Original: The Ordinary Irken Repost
by The Corpse of One Legato
Summary: Original is an ordinary Irken. She's not an Invader, she's not a semi-tallest, and she's not in love with Zim or the tallests. She's just one Irken in a million. This is her story. Reposting from the beginning since I finally wrote an ending for it.
1. Central Library, Capitalia

Author Note: This story was posted on another name, but I removed it before I ever finished it. It sat in my files, just staring at me. So I've finally decided to give it the ending it deserves!

Don't look for it on the other name, it isn't there anymore.

~

This is the story of an Irken. She's not an Invader. She's not a Marauder, Conqueror, or even involved with the military at all. She's never met Zim in person, but she's heard about him in the news. She's only moderately tall. She's never met the tallest, as she's not even tall enough herself to rank anything higher than nosebleed section seats at their speeches. She's only a simple, ordinary Irken, despite the fact that they named her Original.   
  
This is my story.   
  
In the early morning light coming in through the blue haze that encircled the planet, the silver incubator pods hummed breathily in the chilly air. Nestled within lay several small, sleepy Irkens, all cozy and tucked in. We don't handle the cold very well, so on a planet like Irk where the nights can reach subzero, we need to sleep in warmed incubators. Think of it as a combination of tanning both and bed, only we never get tans.   
  
Fourth incubator in the fifty-sixth row of the girl's wing. Yes, that's me. Right there, trying to stay asleep even though I'm getting little jolts of electricity through my antennae telling me that it's time to get up. All around me, sleepy Irken eyes of all shades of red, purple, and green are slowly coming open. The air fills with the sleepy mutterings of "Why can't I have five more minutes?"   
  
I tend to be a bit resistant to the jolts, as evidenced by the sudden scream of "ORIGINAL! Get up! You're going to be late again!" that's bellowed as my incubator top is forcibly thrown open, causing white wisps of fog to rise up where the warm air of my bed meets the cold air of the sleep chamber. Curling up I whine in protest, pulling the sheets back over my head.   
  
"If you don't hurry up they're going to close the cafeteria without you again," the chamber-watcher admonishes, shaking her head at me so that her curly antennae swing slightly from side to side. That gets me going. Within moments I have my deep yellow uniform on and am pulling on my black boots as I run as fast as I possibly can towards the cafeteria, forgetting for a moment that I could have used my spider legs to get there faster.   
  
There are still three Irkens in line when I get there. They're all wearing the deep emerald green uniforms of Organic Sweep Operations, or OSO as it's called. I don't know them, and they don't admit my existence. If the Irken at the front of the line weren't having trouble with his credit scan chip, I probably would have missed breakfast, and as I was too late to get any dinner last night, I might have wasted away before lunch.   
  
Did you think all Irkens wore those red uniforms? I'm glad you're wrong about that, because I find that red color to be simply icky. Only invaders and high level soldiers wear that uniform. Obviously the tallest have their robes and security wears the black face shields and black metal exoskeleton suits. Irkens in training to become soldiers, or simply low level soldiers, wear deep blue uniforms accented in light blue. You can tell a military trainee by the yellow T badge they wear on their chests. Or course, once they've only got three tests left to becoming a soldier elite, they're allowed to wear the uniform of the elite, except that they wear pink instead of black pants.   
  
Librarians, like myself, wear deep yellow. Historians, who work closely with us but are mainly male, where librarians are mainly female, wear almost the same color of yellow but it has more of an orange tint to it. OSOs wear green. Communications and level pulling operators, along with scientists, wear many colors, but they always wear lab coats with a face shield. Medical staff wears white and teachers wear purple uniforms. There are many other uniforms, but I don't know what they stand for. Strangely, the uniforms are not actually mandatory, just "highly suggested." Meaning, you don't have to wear them, but you're a freak if you don't. I think only about 1% of Irkens don't wear the, quote unquote "right" color, and about half of them don't wear the standard uniform or wear a modification of it.   
  
Then there's the eye and antennae issue. The heterozygous gene combination results in red eyes, or some shade of red, which is why it's the most prominent color among our species. Purple eyes are caused by two recessive genes, and green eyes are caused by two dominant genes. How do I know that? I read it in a book. Sshh... don't tell, but it wasn't on the list of approved readings for librarians. Sometimes I... um... *borrow* things I'm not supposed to. Hey, it's not wrong if you don't get caught, right? But as I was saying, the purple eyed Irkens call themselves a minority and have minority pride meetings and are rather vocal about their eyes, making them also the largest group to buck the traditional uniform, choosing to wear purple instead. Green-eyed Irkens don't seem interested in setting themselves out as a separate group unless it gets them some sort of benefit.   
  
It's my turn to pay. After the white coat wearing Irken scans my credit through, I go to pick out my meal. Unfortunately, those at the end of the line get what no one else wanted. I end up with a long piece of fruit that I found floating in the punch bowl, a dry muffin, and a drink so foul I wouldn't even feed it to a stray. I'm not talking about stray animals, I'm talking about Irkens who shun society and become beggars. I see them huddled on street corners, and sometimes I have to kick them out of the library. Why they would do that, I don't know. They're only bringing misery on themselves. Some people say they're genetic defects who didn't get caught and killed at hatching time.   
  
My antennae are long and would be curly, like the other girl Irkens, but I was once on a transport ship that went off course and ended up lost in space. I nearly froze to death before the rescue team found us. It got so cold that my antennae split. I was never able to fix the problem. Now, I have my single long curl on each side, with smaller ringlet curls coming off of it. Some Irkens like long antennae, some Irkens like short. Some even have surgery or wear uncomfortable extensions to change the look of theirs. Some like to style them, others like them to be very straight, and still others just let them go naturally.   
  
I have to basically simply throw my food down by throat and hope I don't choke, then run to the library. I work in the central library in the largest city on Irk, Capitalia. I'm not in any danger of being late anymore, but I have to get back and put the book in my pod back in the restricted sections. I've had it in my pod for two days now since every time I'm about to return it, someone turns the corner. I could get in big trouble for taking books from the restricted section. I could even be forced to serve time on Foodcourtia. Serve time, get it? Hee hee. I'm very funny.   
  
The central library stands seventeen floors tall and four floors wide. On Irk, we don't just build up, we build out. We've been asking the tallests for a grant to make it larger for the last two years, but we're on the bottom of their priority list now that Operation Impending Doom Two is in full swing. Things are better than before, though. Our previous tallest was all-military, at least this time we have some sympathy coming from Tallest Purple. The building is a huge, tan building with a textured outside that feels like sand if you rub your claw over it. The carved marble staircase is supposed to resemble rocks, but I don't see it.   
  
The hallway inside is ten tallests high, stretching so far over my head that the one time I tried to study the beautiful paintings on it, the weight of my tilted back head threw me off balance and I landed flat on the ground. The paintings on the ceiling depict our Gods giving life to the first Irken. The sidewalls feature far larger than life carved sculptures of our past tallests, with the noticeable exceptions of the ones we'd rather forget.   
  
Just inside the main forum is a display on our current tallests. Robes donated by them are displayed in shining glass cases, for Irkens to come and see. A video displays their "past," but I've learned from reading biographies of the tallests that such things tend to be embellished, to say the least. I take the stairs up to my floor two at a time, using my spider legs to hurry my ascent.   
  
After finally getting the book back, I run to my taskmaster. She's taller than me, with elongated eyes that always seem to be shining in misery. She hands me a pile of books and a list. I put the pile back on the shelves, and then I bring her the books on the list. That's my job, day in and day out, and I love it. I couldn't be happier even if they made me tallest. Sure, I don't have much money, but why do I really need it? It's not like I have anything to spend it on, since I can get all the books I need for free from the library. That's a good thing, since I simply eat right through them, like a hungry slaughtering rat creature devouring a small organism. They're extinct now, but I read about them in a book once.   
  
Our books don't look like your books. You'd probably call them disks. In a highly technological society like ours, did you really think we'd still be using paper? Now you're the one that's being funny.   
  
I'm busily stocking something between Ezorat and Ersta on the shelves when an announcement comes over the PA system. "All librarians, please halt what you are doing and report to center dispatch. Repeat, all librarians please halt what you are doing and report to center dispatch," the melodic female voice intoned, drawing us from our work to the center like ants to a picnic, as you would say.   
  
The head librarian and historian taskmaster, a tall green-eye with antennae as straight as rulers, addresses us like we were pets or children. "Now, listen carefully to me," he says slowly, his cruel eyes inspecting and picking us apart as he paces the platform. If there's one thing I won't accuse Irkens of, it's being overly kind. "As you remember, a librarian on the Massive, the great and powerful mothership of the Irken armada, was accidentally blown out of an airlock. It was decided that the replacement would come from this library. I asked you all to fill out forms indicating why you should be chosen to go onto the Massive. We have picked out the winner."   
  
I remember that competition. I didn't enter. I don't want to be on the front lines of war. I'm happy on Irk. I have my friends, I have my health, I know where everything that I like and need is. Why should I want to have to learn it all over again, while risking my life in a war at the same time?   
  
"The winner," the head librarian drones on. "Is Original 773."   
  
I stand there, until Terr pokes me in the ribs. "That's you," she whispers.   
  
I faint. 

***


	2. The Massive

"There has to be a mistake!" I plead with the head librarian/historian as he drags me along, not even bothering to look down on me with those hostile green eyes. "I didn't even fill out a transfer application!" I cry. I'm clutching a beat up suitcase in one hand. It contains the few uniforms, antennae brushes, and books that I wasn't able to fit inside my pod. I've never been a big clothesIrk, so one suitcase was fine for me.   
"I know. That's why I picked you." 

"What?" I ask, still confused. He pulls me over a bump and I nearly lose my luggage, so I cling on tighter. He has a death grip on my left arm with his claw, and the entire limb from shoulder to tip is beginning to hurt with a dull ache.   
"All the girl librarians wanted to go there to go flirt with the tallests, like they'd ever get within two hundred meters of them. All the guys want to stare at the Massive's weapon system if there should be a battle. You're the only one I can count on to actually WORK if I send them to the Massive." 

"But I don't want to go!" I protest again. 

He pauses, kneeling down so that he can look into my eyes. "Look," he says, gripping my shoulders. "No other Irken wouldn't want to go work on the Massive. You don't want to be known as a freak, do you?" he asks. I slowly shake my head to indicate that I wouldn't like that. "You've been chosen, and you're going to go, or else I promise you that your life here will be hell until you wished you'd never hatched," he snarls as he shoves me into a line of Irkens. All shapes, sizes, and uniform colors seem to swirl around me. I grip my head as it screams in agony from trying to figure out exactly what's going on. "Make us proud," he says, shoving a packet containing my ticket and my identification into my palm, and then he's gone into the crowd.

All around me is a sea of endless faces. After awhile, they blend together so it looks like no one even has a face anymore. I watch in horror as fencing mask faced Irkens shamble past, creatures of the undead, not the flesh and blood of the sisters and brothers I left behind.

Finally I'm on the transport ship to the Massive. I huddle down in my seat, whimpering and hoping that it will be over soon. Somewhere on the way, I fall asleep. In my dreams, I'm being chased by two dark, black shadows with glowing red and purple eyes. Every turn I make, there they are, looming over me. They move along the walls like pure night, or perhaps I should say like pure evil. I wake up with a tiny pip of a scream when someone taps my shoulder with their spider leg.

I look down into the face of a shorter Irken with pale purple eyes, smiling brightly at me. "Come on, we've reached the Massive," she says, and then she melts back into the crowd, as if she was never there at all. Grabbing my suitcase, I join the end of the line filling slowly off the transport ship. It seems most of us slept through the trip, as nearly everyone in front of me is shaking the sleep out of their antennae as they yawn and rub their eyes.

I nearly drop my suitcase in surprise. Digging my fingers in, I study the red ship before me. It's at least three times of the size of my home library, which was the biggest building I'd ever been in. Hundreds of smaller ships are buzzing around it like insects surrounding a particularly desirable flower. The ship has a star behind it, so I'm trapped in its elongated shadow. The breath is simply knocked out of my lungs. I'm panting simply to keep from passing out as I stare at the ship that is to become my home.

"This ship is the size of a city!" a little Irken near my whispers. 

The older Irken clinging to her claw quietly whispers, "The Massive IS a city, practically. It has all the parts of one in just one ship." 

"ID," the security guard at the door barks. I nervously hand it to him. I hope he doesn't notice how my hand is shaking. He studies it, runs some kind of scanning device over my pod, and grunts. "Go," he snorts. "NEXT!" he shouts as I pass, making me jump. When I land, I scurry to get away from that place.

I seek out what I recognize, heading straight for the only tall Irken in a yellow uniform in the place. He looks down at me, his antennae twitching in what seems to be amusement. "So you're the new librarian, eh? Welcome to the Massive," he says as he extends a gnarled claw in my direction. I take it and shake, but my claw feels like jelly in his strong grip. He grins at me. "Nervous, my little one?" he asks, laughing in a wheezing voice. I wonder how old he is. "Come on, there should be a guided tour leaving soon. That'll give you a chance to see at least part of this place."

I sit beside him in the back of a hover train, staring in awe at everything we pass. "Don't let your mouth hang open, little one, it's rude," he comments gruffly. I feel my antennae bristle. I'm not THAT little. 

"The Massive stands over twenty stories tall and thirty stories wide. It employs a crew of over a thousand," the guide tells us. Her big, purple eyes reflect exactly how much she likes her job as she cheerily tells us about everything we're gaping at. "What you see to your left is the auxiliary engines, maintained by a constant crew of five hard working mechanics and their android assistants." 

"The front of the Massive is the tactical center. Just behind that is the living quarters of our almighty tallests, leaders or our entire race. New employees please notice that this area is STRICTLY off limits to anyone without level ten clearance." A couple of younger looking Irkens behind us begin whispering at this point, much to my annoyance. I'm trying to listen. I have much to learn about this new place. 

"To your right you'll see the literature center," the guide says. This makes me perk up. It looks smaller than the library I left behind, but I can only imagine the kind of books they must keep on the Massive. Maybe I can learn to like this job…

"This is the cafeteria. If you take the escalators to the top floor, you will find directions to the sleeping quarters, and this is the end of our tour. Everyone off!" she chirps brightly, her grin taking up most of her face. I trip and nearly fall getting out of the hovercraft. The two from behind snicker, and I feel my blood rushing to my face. 

The next morning, I find myself running through the seemingly endless halls of the Massive. I can't find my way back to the library for anything! I've stopped and asked everyone I see directions, and no one seems able to help me. I've been going in circles forever. I've only got five minutes to get there or I'll be late, and I don't even know where I am. My head is spinning with all the places I've been. Finally, I simply collapse, weeping into my gloves.

"What's your problem?" a hostile voice asks. I look up to see a taller Irken with deep purple eyes standing over me. He's wearing a most unusual uniform, but at the same time, it seems strangely familiar. I've seen it on Irk before, but I can't remember where.

"I can't find the library," I weep, rubbing my tears off on the backs of my gloves.

"Oh, is THAT all?" he asks. He reaches down and pulls me up from the floor. "You don't need to cry about that."

"But I'm going to be late for my first day!" I whine.

A flicker of amusement crosses the taller Irken's face. Only now that I'm standing up do I realize that he's simply huge, perhaps the tallest Irken I've ever been face to face with. I feel a bit nervous. "You're new, so I'll tell you this. This area is off limits to librarians," he says, "but I can see you're lost. Come on, I'll show you how to get there."

I run into the library only two minutes late. The old Irken smiles at me through his wrinkly face. "Got lost, eh? You made good time. Usually the new ones don't show up until two hours after they're supposed to begin work."

"I found a tall Irken who knew the way," I say, feeling sheepish. I'm not a good liar, so I don't even try. "I wanted to thank him, but he took off before I could."

"That's nice," he shrugs. "Let me give you the tour, show you what you're going to be doing." He walks me through a seemingly endless maze of teleporters, conveyor belts, and computer screens. "The Massive can't afford to carry a large library, because it would weigh too much, but we need immediate access to any literature necessary for the war. That's where you come in. Your job is to supervise the teleporting of books back and forth from all the major and not to mention the minor Irken libraries to the Massive and back again."

"You mean… the Massive doesn't have its own library?" I ask. I try to stop them, but my antennae droop visibly, making me even more miserable.

"There are some books, only the frequently needed ones. But, as a librarian for the Massive, you'll be handling lots of sensitive materials, such as high-class restricted literature. We put a lot of trust in you, so even though you won't be handling real books as often, your job is far more important than that of a regular librarian."

"High-class restricted?" I ask.

"Very sensitive, not for anyone without special clearance from the tallests PER BOOK. We trust our librarians not to abuse the privilege to handle these materials entirely," he says. 

"Wow," I say. I've never felt so honored, but I also feel bad because in the back of my mind, I'm already plotting out ways to pinch a book here and there for myself to read. He shows me to a dusty console. Space crawlers are already building their webs on the chair and the blackened console. "This is your new workspace. The computer will load up a tutorial for you when you give it your palm print ID. Follow the tutorial carefully. If you do your job correctly, this is the last time we'll be talking one on one, since I'll be retiring soon," he says as he ambles aimlessly out of the area. Within moments, I'm alone.

I press my palm on the id pad. The computer's monitor glows brightly, making a bleeping noise as the armada logo pops up on the screen in a brilliant purple. IRKEN OSO 5.0 is written in bold type across the bottom. "Welcome Original 773," it says brightly. "How shall I address you?"

"Um… Original is fine," I say quietly. 

"All right, Master Original. You have mail awaiting you."

"Mail?" I ask. The teleporter on my left fires up, frying several space crawlers in the process. A small box is sitting before me, wrapped in bright red paper. I cautiously approach it and being unwrapping it. Pulling open the top, nestled in packing peanuts, I find a small silver robot. "What is this?" I ask.

"This is your SLAW robot, or Standard Library Assistance Worker," the computer tells me in a deep monotone voice. "To activate it, give it your name and pod ID." 

Feeling a bit stupid to be talking to an unmoving robot, I do. Within moments, bright yellow eyes pop open and the robot stands tall and at attention. "Ready to assist you, Sir!" it salutes in a metallic voice. A shudder runs down my back. 

"You can adjust the robot's settings to be more desirable to your own preferences," the computer informs me. After about ten minutes of debating, I finally chose to give it a musical voice, like the sound of chimes dancing on the wind. 

"You're going to need a name," I tell it. "SLAW sounds like something I'd sit on. How about… hmm… umm… Bookworm!" The robot gives me a blank stare, and the computer simply hums. "You guys don't like it, huh?" I say. "Then what about… um… this is harder than I thought. Oh! I know! How about Moby, after my favorite book character?"

"Moby?" the computer mocks.

"I like it!" chirps the SLAW robot, and that's how I ended up working with computer, as he refused to let me give him what he called a "silly name", and Moby the robot. 

That night, standing out on the front observation deck of the Massive, looking out on everything there was to see, I sigh. It is beautiful, but my fellow librarians were none too friendly. I know I'm homesick.

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight."

I smile. "Where did you learn that, Moby?" I giggle a little. It's funny to hear him say that in his little voice.

"I dunno. It was in my programming."

Why a SLAW would need to know that, I don't know. "What did you wish for?" I ask quietly.

Moby's eyes widen. "I can't _tell_ you or it won't come true!"

"Right, right," I nod, turning back to the stars. It's silly, but… oh, what the heck? I make a wish on the stars. I wish… for a friend.


	3. Adjusting to a New Life

***Ummm… I accidentally changed tense in this chapter and was too lazy to fix it. Please forgive me. I'll try to be better next chapter.***

I'd forgotten to mention the part of my new job that really was new to me: working the front desk. Each week, someone from the department got stuck doing it, and we rotated the duty. Why? Simply put, it was one of the most boring jobs in the empire.

I sat behind the dark brown metal box, sighing and drumming my fingers on the keypad of the black laptop provided for use at the desk. Moby was lying on his belly, idly kicking his metal legs while drawing little faces in the dust.

I settled my head in my claws, letting my eyes drift nearly shut. All I do at the desk is take walk-in requests and help others pick up the requests they made. I stick a little coiled gray vacuum tube into their pack to make sure they have the right clearance, then wave them on their way. Frankly, it was even more boring than listening to my old taskmaster croaking out his "team spirit" speeches.

Then she sauntered in. Her eyes flamed like rubies under a spotlight. The silver bangles running up and down her arms jingled as she walked, swinging her hips like one side was broken. Her head was held high. She radiated an air of importance, like royalty, but I knew she couldn't be a tallest because she was only a head or so taller than me.

Her skin shined in the overhead lights. She'd obviously coated herself in a fine powder to get that sheen, as the flowery scent of her powder was drifting my direction. I smiled, trying not to choke as it diffused into my lungs. "Can I help you?" I coughed out.

"You're new," she observed sharply. A bit taken back by her harsh bluntness, I simply nodded. I knew my eyes were thought-revealingly wide as I faced her. "You must be here to replace the guy that accidentally got blown out of an airlock. Poor guy, but if he was going to sneak into a soldier's only function, it was his own fault," she self-righeoutly informed me. Again, I played it safe and simply nodded in her direction.

Without warning, she let out a nerve-piercing shriek, pointing at my head. "Your antennae! They're split! How did that happen?" she cried, eyes wide.

I felt embarrassed. "I don't really remember. It happened when I was a smeet," I stammered. "I'm told it was because I almost froze to death."

"Chemical accident," the strange Irken female chirped, shoving her own split antennae in my face. I hadn't even noticed. "You don't meet many like us." Going for some kind of record, I nodded again. "Well, I should probably get my requests and go."

"ID please," I said politely, clicking to clear off the computer's dancing tallest screensaver. 

"Willow One," she said brightly. That means she has a very rare name. Popular names, like Red or Scotch, can have and ID number in the thousands. We don't generally use our numbers in casual conversation, but without them, it would be impossible to tell who wanted what. 

"Here they are," I said politely, handing over the books. I notice the clearance level: 11. I'm impressed. I've seen a couple level 10s, but this is the first time I've seen an eleven. She takes the books in her hands and waits while I scan into her pack, chattering all the while about how fascinating the subject of genetics is. Only when she's gone do I realize exactly how quiet the library really is.

I'm just settling back in my seat when the teleporter fires up, and a package drops into view. Lifting it, I study the label. "It's for you, Moby," I say, sounding a bit confused. I hand it to him. 

Eagerly, he tears into it, sending packing paper flying in all directions. "Oil!" he squeaks joyfully. "That's what I wished for!" I can't help but giggle a little. Every SLAW unit gets their monthly can of oil, and since I hate getting dirty, it's a lucky thing they change their own oil. Why would he waste his wish on something he was going to get anyway, I wonder? Then again, I think, what else could a happy little robot like that want? I look towards the door the sauntering Willow exited through only moments before, and I silently hope that what just left wasn't the answer to _my_ wish.

======

The next few weeks are uneventful. I eat, I sleep, and I do stuff. I'm starting to get used to the Massive, as "massive" as it may be. At least, now when get lost, it's usually for less than a half-hour. I'm kind of ashamed to admit how often I get lost, as I used to live in the largest city on Irk. I figure I'll get it eventually.

I'm starting to meet the other six librarians, and two historians. The historians are the tallests' personally handpicked choices, and they report history the way the tallests want them to. I'm not sure if this is really right or not, but who am I to question the actions of the tallests? I'm sure they don't call them all-knowing for nothing. The historians are Jez and Gyo. I think Gyo has a bit of crush on me, but that's another story for another time. Jez is too airheaded to notice much of anything beyond his computer. If he didn't have his HAR, historian assistant robot, he'd probably lose his own head.

The other librarians are Susen, Sharlet, Carlit, Brie, Flo, and Flaw. Only Flaw has green eyes, and the other five are all red-eyed. They're nice enough, if a bit of a gossipy bunch. I finally see what the headmaster was talking about when he said all the girls wanted to go to the Massive to flirt with the tallests. Tallest-spotting seems to be these girl's official sport.

Joining them for lunch, I listen politely, but rarely join into the conversation. Today, it's Carlit who's had a sighting. "I was walking along the catwalk, and guess who was two stories below me?"

"Who? Who?" comes the resounding, eager answer.

"Tallest Purple!"

"No way!"

"Liar, liar!"

"No, I wouldn't!" she gasps, a hand on her chest. "He was feeding those flesh-eating blue plants he keeps."

"Flesh eating?" I ask. That doesn't sound nice. I'm not sure I'd like having something like that in my garden. 

"I would have called for his attention, but another stupid servant drone got his head stuck in one of the plants, and our tallest seemed a bit occupied."

"Trying to pull him out?"

"No, laughing."

The girls launch into a fit of laughter themselves. Moby scratches his head. I make a mental note to tell him that I didn't get it, either. What's so funny about a flesh-eating plant? I'd be scared to death if one had me by the antennae. 

As if to answer my thoughts, my antennae were suddenly clasped in a firm grasp. Squealing like a Dlor before the slaughter, I flail my arms. "Help! It's got me!" I shriek, loudly enough to cause the others around me minor pain.

"It? Now I'm an it?" an insulted, female voice asks. I turned around to see Willow. She flashes me a huge grin, her eyes shutting and becoming V-shaped lines in the process. She seems overly happy about something. "You got a minute?"

"I have to go back to work really soon…" I mutter, feeling ashamed to have reacted so severely. 

"That's okay, this will I only take a minute. I wanted to know if you'd like to talk a walk with me when you get off from work. I can show you places around here you'd never find on your own." Strangely, that sounds more like a threat than an open invitation to me. 

So, to be safe, I say yes, sighing in the process. My name should be changed to "she who does things simply because they're the safest way." Some Irkens would say I lead a boring life. I think they've never read the books I have. Who needs putting my body in harm to have exotic adventures?

Walking along because Willow's saunter, I can't help but notice how I've never met another Irken like her. She's always chatting away, not even noticing if the other half of the conversation consists of me doing nothing but twitching my antennae. She walks like a slinking feline, her jewelry chiming on her wrists.

"Doesn't all that silver get in your way when you work?" I finally ask, hating myself for doing it. I've got to learn to stop blurting things out. She pauses, grinning brightly at me. That grin is unlike anything I saw back on Irk, even on other Irkens. 

"Nah, not really. I'm a scientist," she says. After a split second's pause, she adds, "I make Smeets."

"That must be fun," I say, "Seeing all that new life."

Her antennae drop visibly. "I never get to see what I made, really. I just conceive them, not hatch them."

"Oh. Sorry."

She shrugs her slender shoulders. "Hey, no problem. You didn't know. No spots off my pack." We cross in front of a giant observation window, the blackness of night beyond only punctuated by the shining of stars. Willow pauses to watch a couple of toddleIrks playing together. A small girl with deep, reflective purple eyes and bows in her antennae is getting a piggyback ride from a small red-eyed boy. A green-eyed smeet is watching from nearby, sucking on a stuffed Irken doll. The boy trips, spilling the girl across the floor. The smeet laughs hysterically at this.

I watch Willow pick the squirmy little girl back up. "Thanks," she says. She tries to run off, when Willow clamps onto her arm. "Dee, this is my new associate, Original."

Dee studies me, her antennae bobbing. I wonder if I'm earning her approval. "That's a funny name," she says, sticking the head of her stuffed Irken doll in her mouth. 

Willow scolds her quietly before turning to me. "Original, this is my daughter."

I'm not sure what daughter means. "What is a daughter?"

"Well, to use a term you'd be more familiar with, I was her maternal gene donor," Willow says, letting the toddleIrk run off to rejoin her playmates. She watches after her, her eyes nearly tearing up. "Look, you can't tell anyone I know that. It's… not allowed in the rules… to find which smeets you're related to, but when I learned I'd been chosen for a combination of my brains, influence, and my impressive but not wondrous height to have a child, I had to know who she was. It was more than a mistake on my part."

"Why?"

"I found out her paternal gene donor was one of the tallests."

***

Well, those of you who have read "Invader Dee" already knew that. If you haven't, WHAT'S KEEPING YOU? 

Heh, no, I kid. Umm… yeah. Input in the form of reviews is appreciated, but I'm not going to threaten to stop writing if you don't review. I've always hated it when people do that. 


	4. Chapter Four?

[Why am I having such problems with the fact that this is written in present tense? Why? You'll probably have to excuse me again, but I'll try.]

My breath is caught in my lungs. To have that kind of honor… I'd have fallen over backwards in joy. Why then does Willow look so depressed? It doesn't make sense, but Willow doesn't look interested in elaborating, and I'm certainly not the type to push her for information. "She has her father's pretty eyes, doesn't she?" Willow sighs. A second later, she shakes her head and seems to snap out of her daze.

"Come on, I want to show you some of the nicer places to sit and have a good conversation. Or in your case, sit and read," she says brightly. I'm surprised she took her attention off herself long enough to notice me. We head off, leaving the young Irkens behind playing "Tallest of the Hill."

That night, I lay back in my incubator. The top is still open, as I'm not ready to sleep yet. Moby's bright yellow eyes shine as he lies on my stomach. I pat him gently on the head, causing him to make happy purring noises. Willow certainly is one of a kind. I giggle a little. If her baby daughter grows up to be like her AND a tallest, the empire is sure in for some wild times. I can't help but wonder at her sadness, though. I roll over and sleep.

***

We were all jarred from deep sleep by the sound of a low, buzzing siren and the flashing of red lights. I look across the sleep room to see rows upon columns of confused, sleepy Irkens clamoring out of their incubators. The mist rising out of our beds sank into the cold night air and curled like snakes around our feet. 

"Attention, attention," a stern female voice commands out of the ceiling. A couple of shorter Irkens look up so quickly that they fall right over on their backs. "All available fighter and Voot pilots to your docking bays, please. All available pilots to the docking bay for engagement. Engaging hostiles in progress. All non-military personnel are ordered to the backrooms. Guards begin lockdown procedure in ten. Attention, attention."

Around me is a flurry of activity. Nightgowns are cast on every tile underfoot as the pilots and guards scramble into their clothes. Those dressed run wildly down the dimmed corridors towards the sides and front of the ship. "What's going on?" I cry, clinging to the side of my incubator as if it were a life raft. I'm trying not to get crushed by the small green forms zigzagging all about me.

"Come on," a heavy set female guard I knew as Lissa orders in her thick Devastus accent. "We have to begin lockdown."

I grip onto Moby, pulling the surprised and half-asleep robot behind me even as Lissa pushes me into a back hallway. The normal overhead lights are out, leaving me to see only by the dimmed yellow-orange emergency lights on the ground. "Go to the backrooms," she says as she pushes me from the sleep chambers. "Your robot knows the way."

So I find myself running along, Moby clenched like a smeet in my arms, pointing the way to me with his flashlight eyes. I have no clue what is happening, but when I pass the occasionally window I see bursts of painfully brilliant white and yellow lights, like fireworks in the blackness of space. The entire ship seems to be vibrating around me. I am afraid.

One shock sends me sideways into a wall. I am studying the neatly bleeding cut that had been torn into my arm by a rusty bolt when I notice the silence. It was all silent. It was all too silent. My antennae bristle, prickling and tingling with unknown emotion.

"Moby, kill your lights," I order in a hissed whisper. He does as told, clinging to my arm and shaking. The silence in the darkness surrounds me like a funerary shroud, thick and woolen, and as black as the very night itself. 

Then I hear the motion. It may seem strange to hear motion, but the dark left me blind. It was heavy shuffling, like concrete feet in furry slippers. My blood turns to ice and my antennae flattened themselves against my form, though I know not why. I press myself against the wall, Moby huddling between my legs. My heart races so loudly it threatens to give me away. Again, I repeat to myself that I know that I am afraid.

A flash of explosives lit the window, allowing me to see it. It stands over six meters tall, far taller than me but small compared to semi-tallests. Its six blood red eyes glitter in a color unmatched by Irken eyes. It is covered in dark brown hair patched with lighter brown, like a great patterned insect. Its fangs are as large as my eyes, and glisten with wet saliva. Claws as long as a male's antennae and as thick as pencils hang from its hands and drag on the floor, scraping like nails on a chalkboard. It is a most appalling noise, and my antennae twitch in reaction even as I press myself closer to the wall.

In the after glow of more explosions, I watch it tip back its head. A leg, ending in a black boot, hangs from the left corner of its oversized maw. With a toss and a gulp, the leg vanishes into its gaping mouth. I wait in sick silence in the dark as I listen to it munching, hearing with my own head the sound of cracking bones.

I hear it gulp as it swallows, both satisfied and still hungry. I pray for it to leave. I pray for it to anything it wants, as long as it stays away from me. I hear it snort as it begins moving, shuffling and scrapping as it comes towards me. I debate my options quickly in my head. I could run scared and almost assuredly die, or I could keep my place and hope the crunching didn't hurt for long. I know I am short on time. It began snorting more heavily than it had been before. It knew I was there, but it couldn't tell where yet.

"Run!" I scream, pushing Moby ahead of me as I take off down the hall. My legs feel like jelly but I run for all that is in my soul. My hands are thrust before me as I follow the smooth wall in my blindness and panic.

The thing behind me rears up with a noise like a power drill. I hear it simply crash off the walls as it pursues me. I am so terrified that I begin to cry as I run, still screaming, my already dulled vision slurred by my tears. 

The ground swelled beneath me and I fell, landing hard on my pack. The floor was gone! I realize this in a dull haze as I stand, nervously placing my hands on the wall to steady my shaken body. The thing was snorting a floor above me. It, apparently, had noticed the hole and had no intention of following me through it.

I figure this has to be a good thing. I weakly limp along, supporting my little bruised body with the wall. Everything hurt from antennae tip to boot edge. I know the wet, coppery trickle coming down my face is my own blood, but I am currently helpless to stop it. My head felt as if I'd used it to play a game of spinning tops.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, sending me into a screaming fit. I try to run, but fall flat on my belly, my injured legs screaming louder than my vocal chords every could. "Don't eat me!" I beg. Very logical of me, don't you think?

"Calm down! I'm Irken," a familiar, delicately feminine but strongly masculine voice intones dully.

"Willow?" I ask, rolling from my belly onto my back. 

She grins ludicrously at me, squinting her eyes in the process. Moby and a robot I didn't recognize were sitting on her head, holding onto her antennae like they were reins. A limp young male is draped loosely across her left shoulder. His dark red tunic is stained brown-black with his own blood. I find myself staring. 

"Can you walk enough to help me with this guys?" Willow asks. I nod, my mouth dry as cotton.

"How did you find me?" I ask as I help drag the male along, despite my own throbbing ankle.

"I didn't. Moby found me and led me to you," she replies, adjusting the soldier's arm. "Come on, everyone's headed towards the back to protect the smeets and eggs."

"Eggs?" I ask. "What are… eggs?" 

"Our term for bottled Irken, just add nutrients!" Willow quips. "In the old days, before technology became so tied to our bodies that we couldn't exist without it, we used to actually lay eggs, which would hatch into immature young to develop in an adult's pouch. Even now, the demand for soldiers is too great for natural reproduction to keep up with, if we still could. Most of us are born sterile, its better for the army that way, but some… some are different." I still don't understand, so I make a mental note to get a book on the subject. If I survive, that is.

"How did those things get on the ship?" I ask, changing the subject. The soldier supported between us seems to be getting heavier as we walk onward. "I mean, isn't the Massive supposed to be _invincible?_"

Willow's eyes narrow and her face set into a hard scowl line, her lower lip jutting out. "A common assumption that probably got us into this mess. It's all government propaganda, you know," she growled. "As far as how, well, we'll wait and see what our beloved tallests tell us we should believe happened." I notice an acidic tang behind her accent, but I figure it was just because she is scared. I certainly am.

The solider suddenly shudders. His deep green eyes fly open as his head flips backwards, his skin turning whitish as he begins to sweat heavily.

"Hell's bells!" Willow swore. "This way," she cries, dragging him off towards a room at the side of the long hall. "You guard the door," she orders the strange little robot, who simply saluted and sat down. Pulling me inside the room, she turns to Moby while shutting and locking the door. "I'm going to need some of your parts. I'm sorry. I'll have you rebuilt with better parts," Willow promises.

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "No!" I cry.

Willow looks surprised, even angry. "What did you say?" she snarls.

"I like Moby the way he is! I don't want him rebuilt!" I cry as I throw my arms around my SLAW. Would he be the same? Would he still tell me strange poems? Would he still find simple joy in oil? I don't want Moby to change. I feel my mechanical legs twitching in my pack, eager to pop out. I'd never actually felt strongly enough about anything to fight for it before. The tingling sensation was new to me.

Willow backs down, swishing her split antennae in surprise. "You got fight," she comments simply, studying me with her dark eyes. "Fine, get me a funnel and a tube, then. He needs a transfusion, stat!"

"From who?" I ask.

"I checked your pods when you weren't looking. You two are a perfect match, blood type wise."

I raise an eye. "And when were you planning on telling me your… plans?" I ask, digging through the supply packs.

"I figured you'd be patriotic," she laughs. "Here, I got tubing."

"I got soda can," I reply, mocking her. 

"It works," she says, piercing a large hole in the bottom with one mechanical leg. "Hold your arm out," she orders as she slices open his arm and jabs a large needle she'd pulled from her pod into his veins. To the other end she attaches the tubing, then places the can between her thighs and pulls my arm over the can.

I watch as Willow pulls back my sleeve, exposing tender green flesh. I watch as she tears open my arm, letting my precious blood run out and into the can. She takes a deep, heaving breath as she watches it herself. "We can only pray something this crude will work." From outside, a sound like screeching echoes down the hallways. Willow pauses. "And, that they don't find us."

I watch the thick, steaming hot liquid leaving my body in the dim lights from Moby's eyes. The sound of the creatures is still fresh in my mind, torn into my soul like a run in a pair of nylons. 

I am afraid. 


	5. My name is Gregg

"Gregg," he chokes through hoarse whispers. "My name is Gregg."

He'd started coming too even as Willow used the torn remnants of my pants legs to bandage the openings in my arm. He is confused and disoriented, barely able to form words. Willow holds his hand, quietly patting him. I find it funny how she can run a gauntlet of emotions in mere minutes.

"Hi, Gregg. I'm Willow. This is Original," Willow says. I feel awkward and uncertain of myself. Moby is busy hiding behind my legs, peering shyly out at the newly resurrected soldier. "You suffered a pretty bad bite," Willow points out. She'd stripped off his shirt, exposing a ring of punctures around his middle. She is doing her best to disinfect and bind the cuts with our limited supplies. "The wounding goes below your waistline," she frowns. "Original," get his boots off. She grins broadly at him. "We're going to have to strip you down."

He winces as she washes out a puncture with alcohol gel. "Do what you have to. I'm grateful not to be dead."

I turn a deep color of red and green mixed as my face flushes when she strips off his blood soaked pants. Willow gives me a smug, knowing smile. "Never seen a naked male before?" she purrs.

I nod, hiding my eyes with my hands. Shyer Irkens tend to do that when they're embarrassed. "I'm not surprised," Willow answers. "As a simple librarian, you've probably had your mating urges surprised. It makes things simpler for our leaders. Irkens, and most species, are far more willing to obey a central idea without reproductive urges interfering."

I have to admit, I have very little clue what Willow is babbling about. That was okay, because Willow had gone into chatter mode, and wasn't about to let anyone else say anything anyway. "Now me," she says as she continues to work on his wounds. "I see naked males all the time. We're always trying to breed the better smeet, you know. You wouldn't believe the colors some of them turn when _I_ enter the room and ask them to disrobe. Some of them, but some of them, it seems to encourage them. They think I'm going to mate with them or something, despite my lab coat. Boy, do they got a surprise when I clamp a cold metal sucker machine on their…" Willow pauses. "Oh, dear. Now you're turning colors, Original. Let's talk about something more pleasant. Let's talk about you."

"Me?" I ask. I hadn't imagined that Willow would be interested in subjects beyond herself.

"Yes," she says, taking my claw in hers without warning. "If we get out of this alive, promise me you'll study to take the scholarship test."

My breath catches in my throat. "The… scholarship test? But that's only for SMART Irkens!"

"What do you think you are?" Willow snaps. "Back there, when you were ready to fight me despite the fact that I'm combat trained and you're not, I saw real promise in you." Wouldn't that actually make me stupid, I thought, but didn't say anything. "You can't spend your life as a simple peg in the hole. You've got to do it."

"I can't. I'm not scholar material," I say, kicking the bloody can across the room.

Willow looks over at the sleeping Gregg, then stands up and grasps my shoulders. I struggle nervously in her strong grip. "Let me show you how much faith I have in you," she whispers, leaning in. I pull back, uncertain of what to do. Her face is only millimeters from mine when there comes three pounds at the door.

We both jump. Willow looks frankly irritated, but I am relieved. What had she intended to do?

  
"Central Guards," a thick voice calls. "Is anyone in there?"

"Lissa? It's me, Original!" I cry brightly.

"We almost missed you, but we heard something rolling, and then we found this banged up SIR unit. Hey, call him off, will you? He's trying to chew our ankles off."

They carry Gregg away on a stretcher as Willow and I watch. Willow stood tall and strangely stoic as we listen to the wheels squeak down the still darkened hallways.

"The threat was taken care of by blasting the halls with a cleaning flame. Those beasties burned like toasted marshmallows," Lissa tells me as she guides Moby and me back to the incubator chamber.

"How did they get in?" I ask her.

"When we engaged the Meers, they forced us backwards. The things went up the engine shafts during the few moments the blades were stalled in order to reverse thrust direction. The Meers probably sicked them on us."

The incubator room was torn apart from the scuffle. I'd barely gotten any sleep, but nor had anyone else, and it is nearly time for me to report for my breakfast shift. I spend the few moments I have before I have to go tidying up my scattered belongings.

My fingers linger on a book I'd been given upon graduation to librarian. The cover reads, "So, you want to be a scholar?" I didn't… but Willow said… I moan softly, clutching the book to my chest in frustration.

That day at work was relatively slow. Everything was still down for repairs, so I really couldn't have done much if I'd wanted to. No one really wanted to read when last night's events were still fresh gossip, anyway. Finally, I give in. I pull open the pamphlet, which I'd stored in my pack for reasons beyond my own logic. 

To take the test, it read, you must take a prep class. The test is given only once every 70 years, and the class only once every 50, so plan your timing well. To get into the class, you will need two signed letters of recommendation from high trainers and/or supervisors.

I sat the pamphlet down. That settles that, I think. My supervisor back on Capitalia had thought highly enough of me to send me to the Massive, that was true, but who would give me a second? My new supervisor didn't know me, and didn't seem to want to know me. I just didn't know anyone important.

I am leaving work when a shadow drops from the ceiling, nearly onto my back. "Hiya!" Willow cries, hanging upside down like a spider from its silk. I scream and fall over backwards, sending Moby running to avoid being crushed. "You thought about what I said, right?" she asks as she turns right side up.

How does she do that? I noticed her wrists and quickly changed the subject. "You don't have your bracelets on."

"Ppth," she snorts, waving a hand at me in disgust. "Bangles are so… out! High heeled boots are in," she says, waving an ankle in my face.

"Uh… very nice?" I ask, looking sideways at her. She strikes a pose, then turns serious.

"So, did you?"

"I couldn't get…"

"A supervisor's recommendation?" she asks. "Here you go," she smiles, shoving a disk into my hand. "I'm a supervisor in my area."

"But I don't work for you!" I protest.

"They don't care," Willow shrugs. "As for the other recommendation, I can find someone to give you that easy. I can set everything for you."

"Don't you have your own work to do?"

"Nuh-uh," she says, vigerously shaking her head. "Between conception season and birthing season we really don't do anything. We can't improve upon what we don't have to work with."

"Oh," I say, for lack of anything better to say.

"Heeeeeey…. I saw that boy who got your blood. He asked about you," she sing-sang. I find myself turning deep colors again.

"I'm sure he was just being polite," I reply sternly.

"He wanted to know if you were going to come see him. Lucky you, I told him yes," she says, pushing me out the door. I squeak in protest, but she ignores me as she push-drags me all the way to the teleporters. We're off to a little known hospital for soldiers in the heart of the capital of Irk. Maybe I can break away from her and visit my old friends at the library, I think hopefully. I'm too shy to go visit that guy again, as much as nice as he may be.

When we get there, I turn to Moby. "Never, ever let me wish on a star again," I intone as Willow continues to haul me through the hospital. A swinging door comes back and hits me in the face.

A couple of nurses are tiredly sipping down coffee, their clothes and antennae disheveled. A couple of MAAM, medical assistance and management, units trundle back and forth in the hall. Moby pauses to give one his full attention. I have to run back for him and carry him with me to Gregg's chamber.

Gregg raises his head up and grins when he sees us entering. "Hi," he calls. "I didn't honestly think you'd both come see me." His deep jade eyes seem to glow with happiness as we join him in the white folding chairs. "There's no doubt I owe my life to both of you. Is there some way I could repay you?" he asks innocently. Noticing the evil look growing on Willow's face, I come to the rescue.

"It was no big deal. We're in this war together."

"Most wouldn't do what you did, and…" he hesitates, blushing. "This is kind of silly, but I don't even know your name."

"My name is Original, and this is Willow. We told you then, but you were probably kinda confused."

  
He nods. "I know Willow."

"Everyone knows Willow!" she comments loudly, sweeping dramatically back. Gregg and I have to suppress giggles.

"So… what do you do for a living?" he asks, looking shyly in my direction.

"I'm…"

"She's going to be a scholar, right?" Willow shouts. I glare at her.

"Well, I don't know…" I say, my voice drifting off.

"I think that would be neat," Gregg says, nodding to show his approval. "I'm still in training, too. I want to be a major general someday. I'm studying military strategy."

"What are your hobbies?" I ask after a long pause, feeling a bit off.

"I'm kind of a loner. I like strategy games, and reading," he says sheepishly. My heart involuntarily misses a beat as I quietly reply to his comment.

"Me too."

~ ~ ~

Woooo! I finally figured out what the plot, exactly, of this fic is going to be! This is actually pretty much the middle of the story. So… keep reading until the pajamas come home. Or something.


	6. Taking Classes

Okay guys, if it's a cameo you want…

I set down the book I was carrying when I see Sharlet gathering the others around the holoview screen. She's waving her arms frantically. "Come quickly, the tallests are making an announcement!" she cries. We all gather around in a half circle, our eyes wide.

"We would like to thank all of you who responded quickly to yesterday's emergency crisis, especially those who were immediately in the danger zone or protecting the eggs."

"The rest of you should have tried harder!" the purple-eyed one sneered.

"We have gotten a list of names from soldiers and supervisors of those who died in the attack, which can be found posted in the cafeteria or on the Irken mainframe web center. Today, however, we wish to announce the names of those brave Irkens who, due to their duty and bravery far above the rest of you, will be honored in a special ceremony."

The purple eye nods, holding up a sheet. He pauses, squinting. There's some momentary whispering, during which I catch the words "I can't read my own handwriting." After a few moments of confusion, he finally gets down to the names. "Aber 901, Aber 962, Beta 9, Bast 3, Cello 2, Carl 999, Den 3, Dar 3, Eee 432, Fe 333, Gregg 79, Jel 452, Keeny 12, Lars 93, Lissa 89, Original 773, Qaz 1, Toom 67, Willow 1, Zen 90, Zey 30, and Zyr 29."

"Me?" I squeal. "What did I do?"

"You saved a soldier's life," Carlit reminds, shaking my shoulders. They look at me in awe, like it had just been announced that I'm going to be put on a pedestal and worshipped as a goddess for the rest of my life.

"Wow. You're going to meet the tallest," Flaw whispers, shoving her hands in her mouth.

"They never said that. They just sad we'd be honored in a ceremony, and I didn't really save his life! Willow did!"

"Take the fame while you can get it!" Carlit cries, as if I were odd.

"Give credit where credit is due," I retort back.

"I can't believe you get to meet the tallest," Flaw repeats, like a parrot stuck in a daze.

"They never said that!" I cry again, uncomfortable with all the attention. I want to go back to my workstation and sink into the tile floor. 

"Will you… will you pay close attention and tell me what they smell like?" Flaw asks, her eyes starry.

Smell? "Um… all right…" I promise, backing away from the gathered assemblage of librarians. They're like a pack of wild rat creatures smelling out a pray animal. I don't like the way they're looking at me, or the things they're saying.

"Original!" a happy voice cries. We all jump up in the air. It's Gregg, standing in the doorway with a huge smile plastered on his face. "I just got back to the Massive this morning, and I've been looking all over for you. Did you hear that announcement they just made?"

"Yes, and I still can't believe it."

"Why not? You saved my life with your blood. You deserve to be honored."

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. "I didn't save your life… Willow did!" I repeat, upset. Why won't anyone listen to me? I'm trying to say something. 

Gregg doesn't notice my attitude, or doesn't care, because that silly plastered grin never leaves his face. "I can't believe it… honored by the tallests! This will help my chances of getting to be a general!" he says as if in a dream. He looks suddenly over at me, his face twisting from elated to confused. "Hey… you're really upset…"

Someone finally noticed, I think internally. My claws are balled into angry fists. I can't really be mad at HIM, though. He has every reason to be happy. I let my hands relax, letting the breath out of my little lungs in one great heave. My head droops down. "I'll be okay… I'm just not comfortable with all the attention," I sigh.

"Well… I know somewhere we can go and not be noticed after you're done with work… if you'd… want to," he stammers, staring at his feet as he does. His body shakes a little. I stare at him. Did he just ask me out? He looks genuinely nervous but… but… this can't be happening, I think. Good things like this don't happen to a little Irken like me, not all in one day. I look up to make sure there isn't an anvil about to drop on my head or anything. That would be my luck. 

"That sounds… nice." I hear the words slip out of my mouth, but I didn't say them. I didn't mean to say them. I don't know what I'm doing. I… I pause. It feels so nice to be appreciated. I can't help but let myself smile, despite the constant questioning of my coworkers through the rest of the day. I'm actually looking forward to seeing Gregg.

The next few weeks whirl by before I really know what's going on. Being "honored" simply meant that I got a certificate supposedly signed by the tallests, but probably signed by one of their service drones. I find myself spending more time with Gregg than I'd ever imagined I'd spend with ANY Irken outside of my job. Willow is here and there, on and off. I quickly learn that you do not arrange to see Willow… Willow arranges to see you. 

The thing that confuses me most is Willow's on again, off again like of Gregg. Sometimes she's his best friend, laughing at all his jokes and complimenting his SIR unit. She'll playfully pat his arm, or mess up his antennae, or poke his ribs. Then there are the other times, when she'll stand up and storm out of the room if he so much as says her name or tries to get her to pass the nachos. 

During the times when Willow decides she can stand to be friendly, the three of us will often get together after work and picnic out in the recreation room. I like the feel of fake grass beneath my hands. I've never seen real grass before, as I came from Urban Capitalia. Gregg assures me that real grass is far nicer. Willow insists that real grass is itchy, so I have no idea what to think about it. I have a feeling that real grass doesn't amount to much more than what you make of it, like most things.

I hold out a letter I've received to Gregg. "I've been accepted into the scholarship class."

He beams at me. "Congratulations!"

I fold up the letter and stick it in my pod. "There's only one problem… I never filled out the forms to do so."

"Willow?" he asks, looking around as if speaking her name might summon her and her bad attitude right out of the floor. Despite the times she's kind to him, Gregg doesn't like Willow. He doesn't trust her, and he always says he can't understand her. Gregg, I have learned, is the black and white sort. Shades of gray simply confuse his mental military radar, and if anything only comes in shades of gray, it's Willow.

"Possibly. I don't understand why she wants me to take the test so bad," I say, letting my mind drift off. I still think of that moment in the closet. Half of me wishes we hadn't been interrupted, the other half wishes the interruption had come sooner. 

So that night I find myself in a huge, blue auditorium. Sadly, however, it is only half full. I know that the military test prep classes, held every 20 years, usually fill two auditoriums this size and then spill out. Willow, in an email, called it a "sad sign of our society." Being the sort who doesn't like being crushed, I'm kind of glad that the room is mostly empty. Afraid that my hearing will fail me, I sit near the front. Some of the attendees have their robots in chairs next to them. Others have their robots sitting under their chairs. Moby chooses the later, curling around my ankles and powering down for the duration of the class.

A shorter Irken with a rounded midsection wanders onto the stage, adjusting his external ocular assistant devices. He smiles weakly at us. "Well, I have some good and some bad news. The bad news," he says in a nasal smear, "is that the teacher we had lined up for this class was eaten in the attacks. All we ever got back of them was their left antennae." A couple members of the class squeak at this tidbit of news. Scholars are not soldiers by any means, and don't handle gore quite as well. One of the reasons we aren't soldiers in the first place, I suppose. "All our other teachers are busy with the newly hatched batch of smeets. We didn't have any clue who we were going to get, and let me tell you, we asked everyone."

  
There are a couple of whispers from the crowd. Will we have a teacher? A lot of the Irkens here are really serious about taking the test, and unlike me, would be very upset if they had to wait another 50 years to take the class. "BUT, fortunately, a volunteer came forward at the lost possible moment. They've never taught the class, but they're taken the test… so… please be kind to them."

We all sit forward eagerly, waiting for our new teacher to show him or her self. 


	7. Original loves Gregg

His skin is dull and uncared for, dead scales visible on the surface. His hands are tiny little things that shake as he clings onto his papers like his life depended on it. His eyes are the palest shade of light purple possible, staring blankly out at us. They seem to lack sheen, as though he was actually a corpse that had somehow managed to become reanimated. A shiver runs down my back, startling Moby. He stares up at me innocently from his position. Unable to speak, I half-smile reassuringly at him.

"My name is Thar," he begins, looking straight into the plastic surface of the podium, not letting our eyes meet his. "I'm going to be your teacher for this class. I expect good work from all of you," he says quietly. His voice has the quality of a file on splintered wood.

I relate all the details back to Gregg as we sit in the staff rec. room. He listens intently, occasionally nodding. Other than the bandages on one of his antennae, it is now impossible to tell simply by looking at him how close he came to death. For awhile, he had my blood in his veins, I realize with a little shock. What an odd thought. Seeing as how it is somewhat of a scary thought, I push it away. Best not to dwell on the morbid, I believe.

Then I notice the slight pressure on my hand. Looking down, I see Gregg's hand on top of mine, his long spindle-claws gently curled around my hand. His face is turned away from mine, blushing. "You're my really good friend, Original. If this guy ever tries to do something creepy to you, just come to me. I'll teach him a lesson in Irken civilization."

I smile gently, turning my hand over and wrapping my own claws around his. "Sure, Gregg. I'll do that." 

Gregg gives me the cutest, embarrassed little smeet look by turning his head slightly sideways. He doesn't say anything, he simply smiles. I sense that he's going to do something far more important, and lean slightly forward. He does the same. He's looking directly into my eyes when a lean yet large form plops between us.

"Am I missing anything important?" Willow asks, her gigantic grin nearly spreading so far that it falls off her face. Surprised, Gregg and I squeal and fall backwards. Unfortunately for us, we're still holding hands, and end up more or less rolling sideways and clunking our heads together. When we sit back up, muttering angrily at Willow's choice of introductions, our antennae brush together. Gregg immediately looks like the monsters that bit him have reappeared, his face darkening with a horrible blush.

"I'm sorry but I have to go, training you know!" he cries, leaping to his feet and skittering off. I stare after him, one finger absentmindedly tracing my mouth.

"What got into him?" Willow asks, helping herself to my snack cakes. I turn back to her, unable to believe her. I've quickly learned that one does not make plans to see Willow; Willow makes plans to see you.

"Did I say you could eat those?" I ask.

"You never said I couldn't," she shrugs. "Want 'em back?" she asks, showing me the half-chewed food.

"That's gross!" I reply, shaking my head at her.

"Hey, I offered," she replies, eating another cake. "So…. what were you and G-R-E-G-G up to before I decided to drop in? Making a little wild monkey love magic?"

"Wild monkey love magic?" I ask, confused. What's a monkey?

"Nevermind," she replies. "You weren't around when Zim made his latest transmissions."

"I've heard of Zim, but I've never seen him."

"Invader about this tall," she says, holding her hand about two inches off the ground. "Really, really funny. He missed his calling as a comedienne. I can't decide if the tallests hate him, like they say, or if they really love him because he's so funny and he keeps them in stitches. I think they're in denial that they actually look forward to his reports."

"Ah," I say. It's all I can say. Willow takes it for granted that she hangs out with the tallests, whereas the rest of us do not.

"These cakes are horrible," Willow says. "Really dry."

"Buy your own next time," I reply dryly. Willow looks at me and laughs. 

"I'm influencing you in a bad way. When I met you, you never would have had the guts to say that to anyone. I think somebody's growing a spiiiine," she sing-sang.

"Now you're just being silly," I reply, grabbing up the last cake before Willow can get to it. After all, I'd like to at least get ONE of them, since I did buy them. "I've got to leave soon. My class meets tonight."

"Ah, how are things going for you?"

"My instructor is a zombie, but that's about it." I shrug. There isn't much else to say. We study, we do homework, we pray that we won't fail the test. This test has the ability to push you as far back as it does forward. That's why I decided against taking it in the first place. I was scared I would fail. I'm still deadly petrified that I'll fail. "I wake up in the night with my heart pounding angrily at my ribs, terrified because I've just dreamed that I failed."

Willow turns serious for a moment. "You're not going to fail, okay? You're my FRIEND. I saw something special in you in that storage closet, something really special. I wouldn't let someone like that go on being a gem among stones."

"You're full of it, Willow," I reply, starting to pack up the remnants of the meal that Gregg and I had been eating before he'd run off to do his training or something. Perhaps he was simply avoiding Willow. It was obvious, at least to me, that they mixed like cleansing gel and oil, which is to say, not at all. 

"I'm full o' tha HOLY SPIRIT!" Willow yelled, waving her arms in the air in imitation of an Irken preacher. I laugh so hard that I nearly fall over. That's one of the reasons the establishment hates the current tallests so much. The first time they met the Irken Headmaster, think of him like your Earthen pope, tallest Red raised his arms in the air and screamed exactly what Willow had just screamed. At least, that's what I'd heard. Urban legends like that have a tendency to grow and twist until the truth is nothing more than a distortion. I did know one thing: their inability to take anything seriously was LEGENDARY.

"Great, now I'm late for class," I snicker, gathering up the last of the foodage and dumping it in the trash.

"I'll walk ya' to it," Willow shrugs. The two of us set off down the hallway, Willow's clunking boots announcing our presence to the entire Massive. She notices the stares and shrugs. "They're jealous because I'm fashionable."

"Sure, Willow," I reply, leaving her behind as I enter the classroom with two other late Irkens. The pale teacher glares angrily in our general direction, but over our heads. He never lets his eyes meet anyone else. I wonder why. I initially thought he was blind, but it became obvious as he continued to teach that he could see out of at least one eye, for he didn't need help navigating about as he wrote things on the computerized note board. 

Fast-forward five weeks into the class, only two weeks left to go. The stuff on the board is increasingly complex, and I haven't seen Gregg in a week as result. I need my free time to stuff my brain meats full of information I'll need to pass the test. I'm finding that I miss him more and more as time goes on, and I can't understand why. I've had five good weeks with him hanging out, laughing, and ducking Willow when we actually get the chance to see her coming with evil intent written in her eyes. It's not that we hate Willow, we simply dislike it when she shows up and drinks our soda without asking. When we have no food, Gregg gets squeamish but we usually don't run from her. 

I wonder what's wrong with me. I've been focusing on him so hard that I have to scramble to get the newest equation onto my miniature computer. I can't start getting day-dreamy at this part of the class. It's far too important. Sitting between my ankles, Moby makes a little humming noise to himself. I wonder what he could possibly be doing down there and taking a peek. He's got a sheet of paper and a pink crayon. He's drawn two stick-figure Irkens. The caption reads "Original loves Gregg."

I let out a gasp of surprise so loud that the whole room turns my direction. The teacher gives me a harsh glance, but it's aimed at the chair next to me. I immediately feel the blood rushing to my face. "Sorry, elder," I mutter, embarrassed. I can't believe they're all staring at me. What a time to finally be noticed, I think sadly.

"Well, if some of the audience would allow me to continue teaching, then…" the teacher sneers, returning to his work. I'm humiliated. I feel like crying. I'd run from the room if I could, but then I'd only be embarrassed more. I can't even tell Moby to put the picture away for fear of causing a stir. I'm frozen and caged in my helpless situation, and I don't like it. It hurts.

"This is why I never wanted to take this stupid test!" I cry as I run from the room. I've disposed of the offensive picture and I've got Moby under the crook of my arm. Hot tears are running down my face as I stumble back towards the sleeping units.

The class runs so late that most of the functions of the Massive have shut down for the "night" by the time it gets over. My standard issue boots thud dully on the ground as I haul Moby along, still sniffling miserably. What a way to make a fool of myself, I think viciously. Sometimes I really hate myself, I honestly do.

I collide straight with him at the high rate of speed I was going. I had my head down, so I wasn't paying attention. We both let out cries of surprise and bounce backwards. "Sorry, sorry," I mutter. How many times can I embarrass myself in one day?

"Original?" a familiar male voice asks softy.

"Gregg?" I ask in response, looking up. "What are you doing out here?"

"Picking up extra cash by working someone else's night shift for him so he can go out clubbing. What are you doing here?"

"I just got out of class," I reply. "I'm sorry I ran into you."

"No, I should have been paying attention." He looks closely at my face. "Original! Your face is smeared with tears! What happened? Did that creep try to do something to you?" he asks.

"No… I just… I just made a fool of myself in front of everyone today."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replies softly, putting an arm around my heaving shoulders.

"Don't be. I'm the one that made an idiot of myself."

"Now, don't talk like that," he says as he helps me to my feet. "Come on, I'm walking you back to your sleep chambers. Don't worry, I won't get any trouble. I'm supposed to simply patrol the Massive and make sure everything looks normal. Most trouble I've ever run into is mid-aged Smeets out for a thrill."

I nod weakly, letting him take me and put his arms around my shaking torso, essentially guiding me back to the incubation chambers. Outside the door, he pauses and leans over, letting his antennae intentionally touch mine. Because he's slightly taller than I am, I have to tip my head up to look into his eyes. Without warning he leans forward, pressing his open mouth against mine.

I'm so stunned that I can't reply verbally. I want to push him away, but instead my neck flexes backwards, tipping my head back. My hands are on his chest, Moby and my papers suddenly forgotten and lying on the floor. He puts his claws around my back and pulls me close. My heart is pounding as he brushes my face with his antennae. My breathing becomes shallow with excitement. I'm responding to every movement he makes, everything he does.

Then he breaks away. "I'm sorry. That wasn't right of me."

"I don't understand," I mutter. "Willow said that low level Irkens don't have the urge to mate. What were we just doing then?"

He turned slightly darker in color. "They took me off my anti-hormone pills while I was recovering. When I started having feelings for you, I decided I'd never take them again. As for you… well, you're in training to be a scholar, right? Scholars don't have to take those kind of things."

"Gregg…" I respond softly, touching his face with my antennae. He holds out a claw, and I press mine inside his. There's a brief moment where neither of us is capable of movement and then he shrugs. "I have to go make the rounds. I'll see you later, okay?" he asks, giving my claw a quick squeeze.

I nod and watch as he leaves, feeling a lump in my throat. The second he's out of sight, strong hands grasp me. I try to scream, but they cover my mouth. "How could you?" a voice hisses in my ear, then I'm pushed hard on the ground. Moby squeaks and dodges out of my way, but I land hard on my papers.

"After all that I did for, you ungrateful wretch, you go off behind my back and make eyes at that… mindless servant of the war machine!" Willow shrieks. Her eyes are flashing like lightning glowed within. Her hands are balled into fists. Her entire body is shaking violently, like she were being vibrated by some unseen force.

"Willow?" I ask, scooting in terror across the floor.

"You were supposed to be MINE! Did I not make that clear?" she hissed. My eyes increase in size and I back-peddle across the floor as Willow menacingly advances on me. As she walks, her spider legs extend one by one until they lift her off the ground. I have no choice but to extend my own legs, retreating until one of my legs clangs against a metal support post. I debate skittering up it and decide against it. After all, she could easily follow me and I'd be trapped in a corner.

"_I_ got you into the scholar tests so that you could get off the hormones. I did that for you and this is how you repay me?" she asks again, her voice low and menacing.

"Willow… please… I didn't know your intentions!" I cry, huddling against the pole. "And I… I… I want to be Gregg's mate!"

I immediately realize my mistake and have time to dive sideways before her legs strike the place where I was hard enough to send slivers of metal into the air. By that time, Willow's screaming incoherently and has drawn a small crowd of Irkens out of their incubators. They stand in the doorframe and stare.

It must be an odd sight to them. Willow huddles, shaking violently, against the support pole. Smoke rises and makes a halo around her head from the sparks she made when she leaped at me. I'm lying on my back, my extensible legs spread in a circle around me, trying to will them to work again before she has time to make a second strike. 

Willow grasps onto the pole like a lifeline, straightening herself out as I manage to get back on my legs. She laughs, her voice filling the empty corridor. Where are you, Gregg, I wonder as I look frantically about. Just when I need him…

Then, Willow puts her legs away. An easy look crosses her face. "It's okay," she shrugs. "You do what's right for you," she purrs, then she saunters off.

Carlit runs from the incubator room to my side and clasps my arm as I lower myself gingerly to the ground. I'm out of practice with my legs. "What was that all about?" she asks.

"I… I honestly don't know," I reply sadly, my antennae drooping like they were covered in lead weights. "But I just know I'm not going to sleep well tonight."

***

I FIXED THE PROBLEM SO THAT NOW, SUPPOSEDLY, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SIGN IN TO REVIEW THIS STORY.


	8. Royal Celebration

"It's been a week, Gregg, and she won't even talk to me," I sigh, rubbing my large ruby eyes miserably. "I just don't know what to do about her, I don't want her to be mad at me… other than you, she's my only friend." We're talking about Willow, who has been avoiding dropping in on my since the incident the night I confessed my intentions to mate with Gregg to her. 

Moby, sitting between my feet, is playing a game that involves flicking pieces of plastic across the floor. I smile slightly, wistfully, as I watch him. He takes my mind of the heavy book lying in my lap in anticipation of the big event a mere two weeks away. 

Gregg reaches up cautiously with one hand and gently strokes my antennae. "Darling, you're knocking yourself out studying for that test, and I know you know everything. Last night, I came by your incubator on my rounds, and found you asleep next to it with your face in your books." He pauses, strictly wagging a finger at me. "You have got to take some time our for yourself."

Putting his gloved hands on his hips, he wiggles his torso a bit and looks down on me. "Which is why I'm taking you to the grand royal celebration this week's end."

My jaw drops down into the folds of my book. "Wha- what? No! You can't- you're not- serious?! I couldn't possibly… I… Oh Gregg!" I whine, uncertain if I'm going to melt from shock or stand tall in resistance. 

The grand royal celebration, you see, is a yearly celebration of the day the twin tallests, as they are commonly refereed to behind their backs, became the leaders of our great and powerful Irken Empire. Needless to say, invitations to it are highly desired, but nearly impossible to get one's claws on.

"How on Irk did you get an invitation?"

"My superior is a friend of mine, he says I have real talent and wants to put me to work under him once I pass my test. He invited me, said it would be a good time to show off my," Gregg pauses and winks, "Little missus."

"Oh, you! I'm not your 'little woman' yet!" I giggle, pushing him playfully. If there's one thing I've made relatively clear through our courtship; it's that I have no desire to do "ding-ding without the ring," as Carlit would have not so delicately put it. 

"As soon as I pass my test!" he says brightly.

"Then shouldn't you be practicing your maneuvers for it?" I ask, tapping my foot lightly on the ground. Gregg, a bit childish for a grown Irken, is hard to reprimand. Not because I can't, you see, but because he acts like a sheepish smeet in training when in trouble, and everyone knows how hard it is to punish a cute, grinning smeet.

"Baby, you and I can afford one night out! Come on, how often is it that a common Irken gets to be in the same ballroom as the almighty tallests? Please, please say you'll go," he pleads, grasping my hand as his eyes lock with mine.

"Only because you begged me," I sigh, shutting the book.

"Thank you! You won't regret this!" he says cheerily, his grin so large that it threatens to push his eyes right off his face. If I'd known that life was a manuscript on irony, I might have been a bit more apprehensive about attending the celebration.

The ball is fantastic. I'm not even sure how to describe it, but I'll do my best. Scarlet and lavender streamers drip down from the ceilings, cascading like waterfalls over white tables loaded with food items, most of which are so expensive and lavish that I couldn't even afford the cookbooks they'd be listed in. 

Every Irken present seems too have placed every expensive piece of jewelry or antennae adoration in their possession on their bodies to attend. Having nothing except silver glitter to put on the splits of my antennae, I feel underdressed in the jewelry department alone. That doesn't even begin to take into account the silk or satin dresses and uniforms being flaunted all about me. Occasionally the fluffed train or sleeve of a rich female's dress will brush against my bare skin, sending shivers up my fine. The texture of the textiles are so fine that I'm afraid simply letting them brush by my rough skin will fray and rip them. 

Gregg takes my hands in his and gives me a quick little spin around on the fringes off the dance floor, as more "trained" Irkens in the field of dancing are occupying the center. Way up in the front, a distance so far away that I can't tell the true heights of the Irkens standing on the stairs, the tallests are resting on ornate, carved thrones. I don't know if it's just me, but they look bored. A think I catch one flicking something at the other, but I'm too far away to tell what.

An announcer is presenting the elite guests as they arrive. As Gregg whirls me around, I suddenly break free of his grip. My antennae nearly stand up straight as the announcer politely informs the room that a Ms. "Willow One, of Smeet Engineering" has arrived.

She looks the same as the last time I saw her, except that she's decked out in a chest and leg-baring silver dress with thick, high heels that look large enough to kill a rat with. I, personally, am still in flat boots with a plain red uniform-like dress that I purchased via an Irkenet ordering system from Planet Callnowia. It looks nice on me, but it's obvious that I don't have half Willow's wealth. Gregg is still in a generic uniform, but a well-pressed ceremonial one. 

I notice his body stiffen and his antennae twitch attentively when he sees what I'm looking at. Gregg is of the opinion that I should forget about Willow, that she's no good for me and that in the end she'll only end up hurting me. I know he's probably right, but she's the only friend I've got outside of the tallest fan-girls from the library and Moby. I'd be deathly lonely with her intensive bragging and swelled ego.

She disappears into the crowd, only to pop back out of it while Gregg is meekly attempting to teach me how to complete the basic box step of a waltz. "Isn't it the guys who are supposed to step on the girl's feet?" she asks, studying us.

Gregg glares at her, and I look away. She sighs loudly, her shoulder slumping visibly under the revealing straps of her dress. "Look, O, I'm sorry about what… what I said. I haven't been around because I wasn't sure you… you'd forgive me. I should have thought before flying off the handle."

I look up slightly. "It's one of your worst traits," I say softly, not wanting to betray any emotion in either way.

"I know," she replies quietly but sternly. "But you know, forgiving me has always been one of your best traits."

"She doesn't want you around!" Gregg snaps, suddenly drawing himself to his full height and pushing himself between Willow and me. "Why don't you get the picture?"

Willow's eyes narrow. In the background, some percussion instrument shakes like the rattling of a venomous snake's tail. With a loud clash of cymbals, a rich tango, more what you'd call Latin than I'd call Irken, filters in over the background noise and chattering of gathered groups of Irkens. Loud, the tones are pure and heavy like a thick, sweet wine. Gregg, not one to easily back down, matches both Willow's hostile stare and the unfriendly tone of what would normally be called a "lover's dance."

Willow, her high heels clicking against the smooth ground, half-circles around Gregg. "Overprotective, overbearing male chauvinist," Willow says deeply, her accusing voice lost in the tones of the music.

Gregg, stepping forward to match her movements in rhythm, stares deeply into her eyes. "Flamboyant, communist lesbian," he accuses, holding up a single gloved hand.

Willow, her matching hand held behind her back, holds up her opposite hand so that the flats of their palms are facing one another, but not touching in mid-air. "You wouldn't know what was good for a woman if it hit you on the head," she accuses. 

Gregg seizes her hand in the air, throwing his arm around her middle and dipping her back so that her long, split antennae sweep across the marble floor. Taking the lead, he takes a single step forward. "You're a traitorous bitch," he accuses smoothly.

Of course, none of this is actually happening. I'm just imagining it happened this way in my head because it makes the memory more exciting than Gregg and Willow standing with their hands on their hips, eyes flaming, raising their voices to one another.

"Your father didn't want you," Willow argues back, suddenly throwing his hand off his back and in front of him, seizing the lead as she takes a step in the other direction.

"My father? Ha! Your whole department doesn't want you around," Gregg snaps, snatching back the lead by gripping Willow with one hand and spinning her around, then throwing her off balance so she falls backwards against his chest.

"He called you an accident," Willow hisses, getting around behind him and twisting his arm in an attempt to retake the stolen lead.

"They call you a distraction," Gregg argues, barely managing to hold his lead by clinging so tightly onto Willow's gloved hand that it looks like she might lose circulation in her fingers. 

"You're just jealous because I'm better in the sack, and you're afraid Original knows it." In a split second, Willow had regained the lead and step-pulled Gregg halfway across the floor.

"Better to be poor in the sack than a slut," Gregg retorts, bringing her sashay across the dance floor to a dead halt and attempting to jerk her back the other way, grabbing the lead from her control.

"Better to be a slut than a prude," she answers, firmly holding her position even though Gregg retains the lead.

"You're an ugly shrew of a woman."

"And you're the most disgusting specimen of supposed manhood I've seen in years of dealing with them and their slimy seed."

"Whore."

"Mama's boy."

"You pray on poor, emotionally confused women… like a black spider, or creature that lives on the floor of a closet."

"And you're no better, military boot licker. You're a scavenger that gets by, by leeching off the successes of others."

"Ha! You should talk! You stole your way into power!"

Faster and faster they spin, the sound of clapping hands surrounding them as both feverishly keep pace with one another, neither wanting to fall. Willow's dress flails around her legs, her heels clicking in pace with her dance. Gregg's boots thud against the floor, dull but loud like the sound of thunder.

"You're a bad influence on the girl!" they shout in unison, coming to a stunned stop when they realize they've spoken the same words at once. The last tone of the dance sounds, leaving them stranded in the middle of the floor, amidst clapping at their amazing attempts at one-upmanship. 

Of course, they're really just standing beside me, glaring at one another. The clapping is for the real dancers, performing in glitter and bangles at the center of the floor. Willow throws her head back, acting superior. Gregg attempts to mimic her move and nearly falls over.

"Can't you two just get along?" I ask sadly, staring down at my boots.

There's a moment of awkward silence amongst our group before we resume just kind of hanging around the punch bowl. I make polite conversation while Gregg and Willow give each other dagger-sharp glares.

About three hours into the party, a loud woman's scream rings out. Tallest Red, it seems, has just dumped an entire bowl of fruit punch on tallest Purple's head. Tallest Purple, in response, has punched Tallest Red in the ribs. The two tallests, screaming drunken slurs at one another, pushed one another violently.

Gregg reaches out to grab my hand as angry Irkens stampede about, pushing into one another, generally trying to either get out of the way of the fighting or rushing the front of the room to take sides slugging with the tallests. Before he can reach me, however, Willow grabs my arm and drags me away and through a side door.

I duck and twist, trying to avoid getting kicked in the head by the throngs of Irkens hovering about me, piling on one another as they try to push their way out of the ball room. Gregg, following behind us, screams angrily at Willow, but his words are lost in the din of the crowd.

"Everyone knows the royal celebration isn't over until the tallests start a drunken brawl!" Willow laughs as she pulls me along the hallway, essentially dragging me around. I have no particular desire to go with her, but at this point if I don't I'll be crushed under boots and sharp looking heels.

Gregg manages to catch up with us by throwing himself on top of the crowd of fleeing Irkens. Instead of body surfing, he was body swimming, pushing himself over their heads with his palms and heels. Tumbling off the top of the crowd he lands beside Willow and myself, crying out in agony and gripping his bruised ribs.

"You should have tried to land on your feet," Willow scolds.

Gregg moans. "Thanks, I'll remember that next time I'm riding on top of a crowd of panicked Irkens, trying not to get kicked or to kick anyone in the face," he says sarcastically, pushing himself off the ground and to his feet.

Willow shakes her head at him, considering him only a minor annoyance to her at this point in time. "Come on, let's go back to my nest and suck down some expensive wine, it's too early for the night to end," she says dramatically, lifting her arms and her eyes towards the ceiling lights. It probably would have been more dramatic if we'd been outside under the stars.

"I don't think I want to go to your nest," Gregg says quietly, taking my arm and starting to lead me away. "After all, Original and I have to study. For our tests."

"But Gregg, I want to see Willow's nest," I whine unhappily. I really do. I've never seen a nest before; those of us without the benefits and privilege of high rank only have our incubators and a locker-like cubby below for storing personal items.

Willow guides us through twisted hallways, like mazes or the tunnels of an earthen ant's home. I'm not sure which it would be more accurate to compare it to. Perhaps more like a cave. Some hallways were so narrow that we had to walk single file, other areas were so spacious that we could barely see the sky above our heads and we could have walked with our arms outstretched fingertip to fingertip without bumping into anything.

Eventually we end up walking up a winding staircase made of glass, illuminated from beneath with a soft pinkish-brown tint that really flattered Willow's mature features. Willow pauses, looking back down the stairs, her face slightly amused but also concerned. "Is something wrong, Gregg?"

I look back, my eyes doubling in size from shock. He's a good two flights below us, clinging to the railing. His eyes are wide. He's gasping for air, as though the victim of a gas attack. His chest heaves, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His knees knock together like his legs were made of jelly, and he seems on the verge of collapse.

"Gregg!" I cry, running back down. Willow follows, moving amazingly quickly for a woman in high heels.

"I… I… I…" he mutters, shaking.

"Get him onto my back," Willow volunteers. "I'm stronger, I can carry him to my place and we can call for help."

I put my hand under his foot. "Don't lift me!" Gregg screams loudly, suddenly digging his fingers into the railing. Willow jumps back in surprise, as do I, but we jump in opposite directions. His body shakes. "Just… don't… lift me…"

It takes me a moment to realize what's going on. "You're afraid of heights, aren't you?" I ask softly. 

"NO!" he cries, but his eyes and trembling body say yes.

Willow takes a step down the stairs, her body rigid, always maintaining her aloof posture. "Cover his eyes and guide him. If he can't see the danger, he won't be afraid."

"Danger?" Gregg squeaks.

"You only think it's dangerous, honey," I say softly, patting his arm. "It's okay, I'll guide you. I won't let anything happen to you." I'm so concerned with him that I even manage to ignore the fact that Willow's making critical gagging noises in the background.

Between Willow and myself, one of us holding each of Gregg's arms, we manage to get him to the top of the stairs. Once we're there, we pause for him to catch his breath. As he does, Willow points out a steel elevator we can take to get back down to ground floor. Despite the fact that his voice oozes distrust of her, he still manages to thank her for the information.

Willow's nest is at the end of the hallway, near a potted plant. The door is a thick brown slab with a single glass-covered hole in it to see who is outside your door before answering it. She presses her hand on a tan square, a slightly lighter color than the surrounding brown walls, and the door slides open from left to right with a quiet "thwunk" sound. 

As soon as we're inside the door, Willow kicks off her heels, letting them rebound off the wall. "Whoo!" she laughs, "I thought those things were going to cut off my circulation!"

"But you always wear heels," Gregg points out, still weakly hanging off my arm. 

"I wear them because they're style, not because they're comfortable," Willow shrugs as she lets the clips out of her antennae. "Ah, that feels so good! Well, come on. Drop your shoes and come inside!"

The "nest" consists of three rooms, a large room with a kitchenette area, a smaller room containing an incubator, and a medium sized room containing a bodily fluid dumping canister and a cleansing chamber. I notice curiously that the incubator is big enough for two. Perhaps Willow often entertains "guests," I think, then let it drop. Considering that she's placed moves on me, I don't want to think about Willow's personal life any more than I have to.

Willow sweeps us into the large room, bringing us fancy wineglasses and pouring out a glass of something white and bubbly that would probably take me over a year to save up for one bottle of. "If you want more, I've got more," she says cheerily, filling up her own glass and throwing herself down on the couch. 

"After all that time of you drinking our soda, you'd have to get us pretty drunk to make it even," Gregg snorts, sipping lightly at his drink. Gregg's not a big fan of alcohol. I pat his leg to give him silent praise for being a good sport about it anyway.

Willow curls her legs up underneath her body as she sits on the couch, picking at the seam of her white fishnet stockings. They match her silver dress better than I would have imagined, I note silently in my head. I don't feel a need to tell Willow this; Willow already praises herself better than I ever could.

"To your health," Willow smiles, raising her glass in the air. "And to Original passing her test."

"I'll drink to that, even if you did make the toast," Gregg responds, lifting his glass and taking a drink. Sighing, I follow his actions and sip at the drink. Its strangely sweet, yet also bitter. While I taste the sugar my face crinkles up from the sourness. How one drink can be so full of contradictions, I'm not sure. This wine, I think, tastes like Willow and Gregg's tango. Still I know that it tastes good on my tongue and smooth in my mouth, so I take a long, slow sip of it. After all, who knows when the next time I'll get to taste something so delightfully expensive again will be? 

The opening of the front door suddenly shatters our moment of relaxation. Willow jumps to her feet, like she'd been shot. Standing in the doorway, a tall male with dusty red eyes stares confusedly at us. He's as lanky as a beanpole, looking like he hasn't been properly feed in days. There are dark bags under his eyes that make them look hollow, like the bony eyes of a corpse. His hands are long and thin, looking more like claws than actual hands.

Pressing myself against Gregg, thinking the Irken an intruder, I cry, "Who is that?"

I expected an answer from Willow, since the tense way she and the male stare at one another suggests that she knows him. To my surprise, the answer comes from Gregg instead. "That's Raine, absolute head of the Smeet Engineering department, and Willow's mate," Gregg smirks.


	9. Burned Intimacies

There's a dull pause as Raine studies us, his eyes detached and his posture indicating that he's disinterested. He's tall, really tall, and the shadows coming from overhead make his eyes look like empty black sockets. "I'm glad that you know my name. And you are…?"

"Gregg and Original," Willow cuts in. I notice a distinct change in her voice, but the particular emotion that's been added is impossible to pinpoint. "I invited them over for drinks."

"You know I don't like it when you get drunk."

"It's only one drink. I don't get drunk off of one drink." Raine doesn't look convinced. He stalks across the room, his arms swaying almost as though they had extra joints.

"So… Gregg, Original. What do you two do for a living?"

"I'm a soldier," Gregg answers, his voice on edge.

"I work in the central library," I answer politely, keeping my eyes on my drink. There's something condescending about Raine, almost as though he'd decided he was too good for us before he met us.

"Splendid. I always support our troops, and it really is the little people that keep this ship running."

A spike of energy tickles up my back as my antennae stiffen at attention. What does he mean by little people? I'm not that short. I realize full well that he's insinuating that I have no actual importance as compared to him, but I've never been one to be insulted by stuck-up Irkens.

"And what, exactly, do you do, Mr. Raine?" Gregg asks, his voice dripping sarcasm as his arm snakes protectively around me. 

"I am the absolute head of Smeet Engineering, as was my father before me. What I say goes, there are none that dare challenge my authority," he answers darkly as helps himself to the bottle of wine, pouring out a perfect glass while staring at us. "In fact, without my father's say so, you probably wouldn't even exist," he finishes, taking a delicate sip of the wine. 

"Honestly, Raine. If you're going to be a bastard you might as well leave."

"I don't want to leave. This is more my nest than yours anyway, my monies pay for it."

Willow's eyes are bright as she stands up, coming only to Raine's collarbone without her heels on. "You forget, _darling,_ that I make almost as much monies as you do. In fact, I would be making the same amount if I had a ding-dong between my legs." Finishing up her tirade, Willow sighs dramatically. "Too bad the fact that I've mated with you doesn't count."

Surprisingly, Raine does not react to Willow's accusation. He merely yawns. "Willow, I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. Please send your friends home."

"Oh, no you don't! The nest is mine this week! Go back to your office and sleep on the floor like you always do!" Her voice is increasing in pitch, her antennae are standing up as high as the weight of her curls will allow, and her eyes are flashing with fire.

"We can… excuse ourselves…" I say, stepping nervously towards the door. In a moment, Gregg is beside me, our shoes in his hand. He pulls me out the door even as I weakly try to protest that I don't have them on.

Once the door shuts, Gregg hands my boots over to me. "Sorry. But I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. The air was getting pretty heavy."

"You're a quick thinker, honey," I compliment, kissing him gently on the cheek. He blushes a deep green, still not used to the idea of showing affection in public. "How did you know who Raine was?"

"I tried to get some information on Willow, to make sure you'd be safe around her." His eyes narrow as he says this. "All I found was that the vast majority of her past is locked up so that only high-clearance officers can get at it."

"Off course! She's pretty high-ranking herself, and they don't want to leave anything open for blackmail." I look back towards the closed door as we slip away. "The one thing I can't understand… why would someone like her ever mate with such a…"

"Bastard?"

"I was going to say meanie, Gregg."

Gregg laughs, but says nothing on the matter at hand. 

~

The day of the big test arrives. I have no less than three alarm clocks set to get me up at least an hour before I normally would. After one quick look over my notes and a prayer to the heavenly Irkens that watch over us, I slipped beneath the sheets.

Standing in line to get my ID checked and be admitted into the test room, my knees knock together with nervousness. I'm not as calm as some of the would-be scholars are, but I'm not nearly as bad off as the ones whose faces have gone white or are silently clutching their abdomens in pain.

Moby gives me an antennae-up as he's rounded into the robotic devices waiting pen. After all, they don't want any electronic cheating. The test begins promptly at eight, and I'm ready to go…

I only wish I could remember how to spell my name.

An intense six hours later the last hopefuls straggle out of the testing room, shaking their hands or rubbing their eyes. I'm surprised I can even walk anymore; even at work I get breaks more often than once every six hours. My joints hurt from being in a bent position so long, and I'm limping because my left leg has gone to sleep.

Gregg's at work until late that night, but I don't want to merely sit around and brood on whether or not I passed the test. There were so many I didn't know, but so many I also did know… and so many questions seemed like trick questions, so I didn't know how to call it. 

Picking up Moby, I look in the direction of Willow's nest. I know that Willow likes to drop in on me, but perhaps it would be fun to drop in on her. It would certainly shake things up a bit, and Willow didn't seem like the type to be fixated on maintaining normalcy. 

I take the winding glass staircase two at a time, since I lack the fear of heights that cripples my poor Gregg. Wandering down the hall, I walk towards the familiar plant that I picked up on as a landmark from my first visit. This is it, I think, pressing the bell to warn the occupants that they have a visitor.

I wait outside the door. Nothing happens. Perhaps my idea was ill conceived. After all, she might still be at work, or she might have gone out after work. Willow didn't even seem like the type to attach herself to places. 

Just as I was turning heel to leave the door opened, sending a shadow from Raine's slender form across me. I freeze in place, trapped in the sharp claws of an invisible monster. I am afraid that he's going to rip into me as he did the first time I saw him.

"Miss… Original? That was your name, wasn't it?" he asked, his voice smoother and calmer than the incident a decent while ago. "Please don't run away. I want to apologize for being so rude. You see, I got a bit tipsy at the celebration, so I really wasn't thinking about what I was saying." He pauses, then looks away. "No, that's really not excusable. I said some detestable things because I was too hammered to use my mind straight, but I shouldn't let alcohol be the excuse for my bad behavior."

I wave my hands frantically, still backing away from him. "No, no, it's perfectly okay, Mr. Raine!" I cry, just wanting to get out of there. "Your apology is fine!" Whether he's apologizing or not, he's still creepy, and I'm still afraid that he's going to freak out on me.

"No, it's not okay. You're scared stiff of me. Won't you please come in? Willow should be back any minute now, she went to the store to buy anti-burn cream."

"Anti-burn cream?" 

Raine's eyes suddenly change. He's said something he shouldn't have, didn't want to, didn't mean to. A dark cloud seeps into them as they twitch violently, before his previous polite disposition returns.

"She burned her finger while trying to make a fried dish, I guess she wasn't thinking about the fact that we didn't have any medication before she had an accident," he half-laughs.

"Yeah, accidents aren't well thought out. Mr. Raine?"

"Call me Raine, we don't need formalities between friends of friends."

"Right," I nod, nervously. My voice is strangely even more subdued than normal for me. "Can I use your waste disposal room? I haven't been near a bathroom in six hours, and I was drinking soda all day."

"Of course, young one! It's right there," he says brightly, pointing me in the correct direction.

"Thank you," I say, setting Moby down. "Moby, please sit quietly. I'll be right back."

After running cleansing gel over my hands I dry them and attempt to throw the disposable hand towel in the trash. It hits the rim instead, plunking on the floor. Unhappy with my lack of sports coordination, I bend over.

As I throw the towel in the trash, I notice a familiar white jar in the trash. I know it's garbage, and I know I shouldn't be digging around in other irken's trash, but something in my head is giving off an alarm signal.

I pick the canister gently out of the trash, feeling slightly disgusted as I lift up an empty jar of burn medication. It's large and completely used up but only seems to have been purchased less than a month ago. Now, I know I could assume that Willow is rather clumsy, but from what I've seen of her that doesn't seem right. Something isn't adding up, and suddenly I'm very afraid to be alone in the apartment with Raine.

As I leave the waste disposal room, I let a panicked look slip into my eyes. "Oh no! I was supposed to meet Shiana at the lunchroom five minutes ago! It completely slipped my mind. I'm so sorry, Raine sir, but I've got to go! I'm already late."

Raine looks up from the paper he was reading. "Oh, must you go? All right. It's been pleasant speaking with you," he says as I run towards the door, Moby pressed against my chest.

Only once I'm down the twisted staircase do I allow myself to collapse to my knees, gasping for air. I must look like a fool, my eyes wide as I pant and hold my chest, sitting on my haunches on the floor of a busy hallway. I don't care. I am not what you would call the paranoid sort, but there was definitely a bad vibration coming from Raine, and I knew that I didn't want to be around to find out why.

I relate this story to Gregg as we cuddle in his incubator that night. I didn't really feel safe for the rest of the day until the very moment when I could press my face into Gregg's broad chest, breathe in his masculine scent, and let my frightened tears flow.

"Paranoid? No, I don't think you were being paranoid. Women's intuition is very strong, in my experience," he says, lifting my face so his dark eyes bore into mine. "And I'd rather have you being wrong and looking like a fool than having to live with never seeing your smile again."

"Gregg…" I whisper, truly honored to be in the arms of such a man. His hands are on my spine, tracing the contours of my pak and slowly down my body. I push them off of me, rolling over so that I don't have to face him. "I'm not ready to go that far!"

Gregg's hands gently fondly my antennae. I can't see the expression on his face, but I imagine it's one of either contemplation or gentle hurt. "My angel, my love, I promise I'd never hurt you. Please. I love you. You love me. We both want this…"

"Not until we're mates!" I cry, pulling my antennae out of his grip.

"Original, who cares what a little piece of paper from the Empire says? You're my mate in your soul, and I'm your mate in my soul. Nothing could take us apart now, nothing. Please."

"Shouldn't you be studying?" I ask, still refusing to look at him. He gently grabs my chin and turns my face around so our eyes are locked yet again.

"How can I study when you're all that's on my mind? Your face, the contours of your body, the scent of your hormones, all occupy my thoughts constantly." His hand squeezes mine. "I long to see you without your clothes on."

There's a hesitant, long pause between us. It couldn't hurt to give in just… just a little bit, could it? "Is that enough?" I ask. "I mean, can I do that for you, but not go… all the way?"

Gregg kisses my face, then sits up and slides his own elastic shirt over his head. "Darling," he says, "If I can be with you without being ashamed of these scars, why should you be ashamed of your own beautiful body?"

I've never done anything like it before. Even doctors let you undress without their presence in the room. My fingers seem heavier, thicker than they ever have before. I can't believe I'm having such trouble with an action as simple as dressing myself.

"Can I help you?" Gregg asks, his hands reaching out in support.

"No! I… Please, Gregg."

He retracts his hands, looking dejected. It's colder than I realized in the incubator, and my first instinct is to cuddle up to his warm body. However, at that time we've both been reduced to the bodies we were born with and nothing more, and I'm hesitant to touch his nude body or let him touch mine.

He's nonetheless studying it, ever curve, the parts of a body on a warm living female that are normally restricted to male eyes. "You're so beautiful," he says. It's a breathless declaration, but the fact that his eyes never leave the v between my legs while he speaks make me feel a bit creeped out by the whole thing.

I immediately grab my pants and shove my legs back into them. My face is absolutely emerald. "O, what's wrong?" Gregg asks, reaching out and touching my shoulder. I recoil from him.

"Don't touch me when I'm undressed!" I squeal, my voice foreign to me. "You can touch me when I'm dressed!"

Gregg sits back, simply studying me, not making a sound or a judgment. Finally, he folds his legs up under his body and shuts his eyes. "You're afraid. That's okay. The last thing I want in this world is to hurt you." He opens them again. "I'll wait until you're ready. You're worth waiting for."

"S are you. Once you've passed your test, then…" I tremble a bit. "Then I'll be yours without shame."

"And I'll be as gently as I can," he smiles, brushing his fingers down my face. "Let's sleep, my angel."

With that, I lay beside him, my face between his neck and shoulder, as we drift off to a beautiful, mutual dream.


	10. Be Happy For Me

For those of you who happen to be interested, I am currently using Willow as one of my main Invader Zim role-play characters. If you want to check up on what she's up to in the role play (which exists in a different IZ universe than this story, so some details may seem strange) you can go to her livejournal account. Her username is Willow_One.

I had one HECK of a time posting this, only half of it would show up when I did a preview. I don't know what end the problem is on, I suspect it's mine. My MS word is corrupt.

***

"What's this all about?" I ask, confused, as Gregg meets me after work and puts a blindfold over my eyes. He grins brightly. "You silly girl, you know they put the results of the scholarship tests out the very next day, where military tests can be a week of finger-biting nervousness!"

"What does that have to do with this blindfold?" I ask, terrified that he's going to say that he doesn't want me to see my test results.

"I already saw your results, and… I'm taking you out of a congratulatory dinner!"

I sink into his arms. "Congratulatory?" I ask, excited. Congratulatory. That means…

"You passed by a three-point margin! Way to cut it close, girl!" he laughs, tickling me under my chin. "But you made it, and that's the important part."

"Oh Gregg!" I laugh nervously, almost feeling the butterflies float out of my stomach. "I can't believe I made it! I can't believe I made it!" 

Even though I'm still blindfolded he picks me up and spins me around. I can feel his fingers under my arms and feel the wind blowing my antennae gently sideways, and I can hear the sound of his gentle laughter.

When he lets me down I press my face into his chest, breathing deeply. "I love you so much," I whisper breathlessly, still exhausted from letting the tense laughter flow out of me.

He kisses my antennae gently, drawing his slender tongue sensually down their length. "Come on, if we don't get to the restaurant soon we'll lose our reservation."

Dinner at the restaurant is heaven. I've never been treated like such a princess before, even at the tallests' royal celebration. The waiters are gentlemen. They politely ask if we'd like to see the wine list, which Gregg politely accepts. I'm a bit nervous as I'm not much of a drinker, but Gregg assures me he knows what to order.

"How are you paying for this?" I ask.

Gregg grins sideways at me. "Charging it to my card and paying it off with my test-passing bonus, of course."

"Of course," I answer. He and I both know that scholars don't get a test-passing bonus, so there's a bit of an awkward silence before the waiter returns, pad and pencil in hand. 

Once he's gone, I turn back to Gregg. "Aren't you counting your chickens before they hatch? I mean, what if you don't pass."

Gregg waves me off. "Not going to happen," he smiles at me. "You worry too much, but I loves ya for it anyway."

"I worry too much?" I ask, looking down into my drink.

"If you're worrying about worrying too much, isn't that your answer?"

I find myself only nibbling on my salad, no matter how much it must cost. I don't like the dressing. For someone used to common processed things, fresh food is a bit of a surprise and a shock. Still, I get as much down as it is within me to do so. I don't want to make Gregg disappointed.

"When is your test?" I ask, stirring up the dressing with my salad fork.

"I got a slot three days from now. Can you believe it? Three days and we're going to be married."

"If you pass…

"WHEN I pass! Stop worrying!"

"But you hardly ever study…"

Gregg laughs, grasping my hands in his. "Honey, it's mostly an action-based test! I just have to be able to do things! The intelligence tests will come once I've served the period required in the army before they'll allow you to try and move up to Fleet Commander or higher. I can do anything they ask of me. I've passed every practice test I've taken in the last two weeks with a margin of twenty or more points! I have absolutely nothing to worry about."

As the main coarse is set down, I smile at Gregg. "I hope you're right, darling. I really hope you're right."

Gregg laughs again. "My little Original. Such a worrier!"

My antennae stand up a bit. I've told him not to call me his little anything, as I don't feel right when he does, but now is not the time or the place to bring it up. I'd only give myself indigestion and ruin a perfectly lovely dinner.

I end up carrying my dessert home in a little Styrofoam box, as I was too full from the luscious dinner to possibly even think of eating it. Gregg thought it would be a waste to throw it out, however, and I agreed. So here I am, carrying a piece of some kind of chocolate pie through the corridors of the Massive.

"Hey, we're getting near Willow's place."

Gregg's antennae twitch in annoyance that I've pointed it out. "Is she ALL you think about?"

My antennae droop miserably in response. "She's… really the only Irken I know…"

"I'll find you some other girls to hang out with. Orig, Willow is not a nice girl. She's a loud freak. I don't want that rubbing off on my cute lil' Original."

"Gregg, I told you I don't like to be called lit…"

A door on the mezzanine corridor above us being thrown violently open interrupts me. Gregg, in a reaction more from his soldier reflexes than from actually thinking about what was going on, pulls me into the shadows under the corridor. Above our heads, someone stomps into the hallway. I recognize Raine's voice instantly.

"If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back!"

The stomping stops, and then Willow cat-calls back, "Like I'd ever want to!" The stomping then angrily resumes.

"Hey… hey… HEY! You come back here right now!" Raine screams.

"Make me!" Willow snaps back, still stomping across the floor. Gregg and I huddle behind a plant, not wanting her to see us if she comes downstairs and think we're spying on her. After all, who would believe such a meeting was coincidence?

"Fine, if you're going to be that way!" a second set of boots stomps across the mezzanine.

"Hey, let go! Let go!" Willow shouts, and the sound of something hard like a fist colliding with something soft, like a belly, reaches us. There's no cry of pain or anything to indicate that Raine felt anything, however, so we wonder what she really hit.

"Put me down! Put me down! I don't like being carried!"

"Shut up or I'll bust your jaw open, you lousy pest."

"I'll take your nuts off! Don't think that I won't!"

"Shove it," Raine says dully, and the sound of boots once again storms overhead. Willow gives out a string of Irken curse words that I would frankly be ashamed to repeat, before the slamming of a door cuts away the sound of her voice.

Gregg and I sit in stunned silence for a few moments behind the plant. We're not used to mated couples sweating such bodily violence upon one another. Something went wrong with that couple, very wrong. I'm curious to find out what it is, but for some reason I'm afraid that if I know it will spread like a virus and taint my full-hearted love for Gregg.

Gregg seems to notice I'm shaking, and puts his arm around me.

"Angel, we won't be like that, will we?" I sob, lying my head on his shoulder.

"Sssh, sssh. No. Never," he says, looking back up at the ceiling.

A janitor sweeps by, looking boredly at us. "Don't mind that. They're always like that. If they carried out half the things they threatened, they'd both be dead six times over. Just two weeks ago the girlie chased the guy down the hall with a butcher knife from the kitchen. We all thought she was really going to get him that time, but her heels tripped her up."

"That's horrible. Doesn't anyone try to stop them?"

The janitor laughs, leaning on his broom. "What, and lose the best reality television we've had in years?"

I lean against Gregg as we walk back to our incubator. "Orig? You okay?" he asks softly, noticing that I haven't said anything.

"Just tired. Want to put my dessert in the cooler and go to sleep."

There's a long pause as we just walk down the hall in tandem. "You're thinking about Willow."

"How can she stand having such a… CREEP… for a mate? Why doesn't she leave him?"

"Maybe it's a codependent relationship. Maybe she thinks she can't get another man if she leaves him."

I frown, biting my left index finger. "Willow doesn't seem like the kind to worry about having a man."

We walk along some more. "Then it's probably financial. Look at all the nice things she has, probably out of the poor guy's hard earned monies."

"Raine was threatening Willow as much as Willow was threatening Raine. I don't think you can call him the 'poor guy." 

"Whoa, whoa," Gregg says, pulling me to a stop. "We're fighting about WILLOW?"

I laugh at Gregg's expression. "You're right, that's the last thing I want us to fight about." I lean up on my tiptoes and give him a kiss on the eyelid. "I just want to know that you love me."

He massages my hands. "I do. I honestly do. Orig, prove to me that you love me. Prove that we're not going to end up like those two. Make love to me, tonight."

"… Tonight…"

"Yes, tonight. Right now, right in our warm incubator!"

"No."

Gregg's face falls. "Why not?"

"Not until we're mates," I repeat, putting my pie in the cooler. I notice the box is squished; I think I sat on it while we were hiding from Willow and Raine. I hope flat pie is still good pie.

"But… but… oh, fine. Fine," Gregg says, crossing his arms and stomping his left foot.

"You're cute when you're angry," I reply, taking my night uniform out of the "hers" cubby. "Be back once I've changed."

"O-kay," Gregg pouts, giving me sad smeet eyes. His eyes yank a string attached to my heart. I do love him, but do I love him enough? Maybe I should give in…

No, no. I have to stick to my morals or he'll never respect me once we're mates. Willow told me that, but I don't dare tell Gregg that. He'll accuse me of letting her corrupt my feminine side, whatever that's supposed to mean. I don't really understand and I don't ask because I don't want to start a fight. 

That night, once I know Gregg is sound asleep, I slip out of the incubator. Taking Moby with me, I wander back to that viewing platform from my first night alone. I set Moby down, feeling the coldness of the platform under my bare feet. "Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…"

I pause, closing my eyes slowly. "Thank you for brining me a friend. Thank you for bringing me two good friends, both of whom I love in very different ways. If you could only make them get along, I'd be so grateful to you…" I sigh, opening my eyes again.

Somewhere inside me that I won't admit to, I'm wondering if Gregg really is "the One" for me.

Moby squeals happily, jumping up and down. "Look master, a shooting star! Wish on it and your wish HAS to come true!"

I trace the movement of the star across the window with my short green fingers. The only thing I could want, I think as I watch the star, is to know I've found my true happiness.


	11. First Time Love ?

Well the first part of this was GOING to be in Chapter Ten, but Word decided that it ONLY like that part of the story. I had to remove it to get the rest of Chapter Ten to post. So I hope you enjoy it.

***

Minus one day to Gregg's test. I'm working busily away at my computer when a pair of brilliant ruby eyes drop into my view. With a scream I fall backwards and out of my chair. It's lucky that Moby has such fast reflexes, or I'd have a pancake bot at that point.

"WILLOW! Don't drop in from the ceiling!" I cry, grabbing my chest. One of my hearts is racing wildly, adrenaline shooting through my system."

"Sorry." She points to the clock. "Isn't it quitting time for you?"

"I was just going to finish off this pile first," I say, my voice drifting off as I gesture to it.

"Nuh-uh. It'll be there tomorrow. Come on, your man's test is tomorrow, and if you're dead set no marrying him you at least need to have some sexy undies for the "Big Night."

"Why would Gregg care what my underwear looks like?" I ask, confused.

Willow slaps her face with her palm, then swings an arm around me. "Kid, it's a good thing you got a woman of the world to look after you."

I nod, not knowing what else to say or do. "What happened to your eye?" I ask nervously, noticing a darkening bruise around her left eye.

"I tripped over a piece of carpet. Can you believe that? I drop off of ceilings just fine and never so much as bruise myself, yet a loose piece of carpet gives me a shiner!"

I say nothing as she pushes me out into the hallway, eager for a girl's day out shopping trip with me. I'm afraid that what caused the shiner is no carpet, but instead a tall man of a bitter persuasion. But I don't know how to say that to Willow without confessing to what I saw, so I bite my lip and remain silent.

"How about this one?" Willow asks, holding up something small made out of black lace.

The whole lingerie thing still confuses me beyond words, much to Willow's apparent frustration. "Why would I wear that?" I ask. "I might as well be naked if you can see through it!"

"Guys like to watch you take it off," she says, throwing it back on the rack with a shrug. There's a long pause between us, during which Willow wraps a small article of clothing tightly between her hands. "Look, I want to be happy for you. I'm trying to be enthusiastic that you're getting a mate. My own… experiences with them haven't been good, and I just don't want to see you hurt, okay?" She turns back to me. "You're my friend, and a damn cool one if I may say so myself," she smiles, ruffling my antennae as all trace of the previous awkwardness vanish. "I'm gonna go buzz the clearance rack, you keep looking here."

I watch her go, the pieces not fitting together in my brain quite right. What was that? Willow seemed so… different… for a moment. Her confidence was gone, her usual joking manner vaporized, her eyes filled with an ache for which I have no descriptive words. 

Did I see some other part of her brass, loud personality? Or did she make a mistake, and the mask slipped just long enough for me to see what is really underneath her façade? 

"Willow…" I say, following her. "I'm not going to ask you to be happy for me if it's not how you really feel. You mean that to me as a friend. Just… don't ruin it for me, okay? Let me be happy, even if you think I'm naive."

Or rather, that's what I want to do. But I just can't confront someone like that, so I remain at the bra rack, silently picking my way through mounds of foam and tacky lace.

***

The day of all-important days dawns bright and early. I slip out of the incubator bed I share with Gregg extra super early so that I can get him a breakfast that he'll be able to digest before his test time arrives.

Gregg grins when he sees me coming, carrying a take-out tray with a donut and juice on it. "Aw, Orig, you didn't have to, but somehow I knew you would! You're the perfect girl, you know that right?" he asks as he sits up, smiling.

I hand the tray over. He frowns when he sees it. "Nothing for you?"

"I didn't have any extra meal rations, so I'll buy something out of the machines for myself. It's okay, Gregg, I wanted you to eat well before your big test and I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in incubator!"

He smiles and shakes his head. "Sure, starve yourself for me, you silly girl." He brushes a hand for his antennae. "Stop fretting. I'm going to pass with more than flying colors!"

"So they'll be soaring colors?" I ask, cracking a pretty darn pathetic joke. Gregg laughs anyway, the sign of a true gentleman.

He dresses quickly, unashamed to remove his clothes in front of me. I still turn my head away. His shirt off, puts a gloved hand on my shoulder, putting only slight pressure on it. "You don't have to look away. In a few short hours I'll be your mate."

"Hours? But it takes over three days to get the results back!"

"I'll know in an instant if I passed it," he grins, waving me off. "I've got instinct like that, girl." He kisses me on the forehead, throws on his shirt, and slings his backpack up and over his ID pack. "Wish me skill, okay angel? Because I'd don't want to pass by luck alone."

I smile and nod. "I will. I'll be thinking of you all day today!"

Work hasn't changed much since I got my scholar license. I've been looking into getting a scholar's job, but the openings available haven't even so much as made my antennae twitch with mild interest. The fact is, I like the library. As a scholar I'm entitled to more job duties and promotions others couldn't get, but none are open at the moment. I don't particularly mind; I can wait and read in the meantime.

At about five minutes after when I'm supposed to leave, as I'm using my unpaid time to check my email on the office computers, Gregg comes bursting in. In my surprise at seeing him I knock over a pile of books at my left shoulder, causing a loud clattering noise that spooks Moby.

"Gregg, what are you…"

I don't have time to finish the question before he sweeps me up into his arms, pressing his mouth against me hard and fast. I never realized how warm he was before. My feet leave the ground, flailing wildly in open air. My arms thrash around in surprise as Gregg holds me like one would hold an infant, his tongue eagerly probing against my closed mouth.

I push against his chest. "Gregg, stop it! What are you doing?"

"I passed my test, I just know I passed my test!" he says. He's panting. His eyes are wild, lit with a strange inner color that I've never seen before. For the first time in my life, I'm terrified of him.

"But… but… the results…"

"Don't give me that!" he snaps, his voice harsh. He instantly cuts me off, making me want to crawl into a corner. "Why can't you trust me for just once in your life? I love you! Please, please stop rejecting me!"

"I'd never reject you…" 

He advances, pushing my back against a wall. My hearts are beating frantically, and my mind has gone into fight or flight mode.

"Original, please baby, I need you so much…"

This time, he is the one that gets cut off, because I slapped him. "Stop it," I say, unable to bring my eyes up to his. "You're scaring me, Gregg, you're scaring me!"

He stands back, his eyes reflecting a combination of hurt and surprise. "I… am?" he asks quietly, his voice suddenly returned to normal. He looks down at his feet, shuffling them like a schoolboy in trouble. "I thought you'd like an aggressive guy."

I soften a bit. My hearts are slowing. I push myself off the wall and run my fingers down his chin. "Gregg, the Gregg you normally are is the Gregg I love. Not someone you think you have to be to please me."

"Really?" he asks. He looks like he honestly doesn't believe that.

"Really," I answer, putting my arms around him and holding him too me. I notice his body is still shaking. Is he upset about something? 

He puts a hand on my back. "Thanks. I'll… love you forever."

"That's all I could ask," I say, snuggling against him. His hand, meanwhile, has snaked down the curve of my back and slides slowly between the back of my black standard-issue pants and underpants, gliding along the contours of my body and slowly down.

I slap his hand away, laughing nervously. "You're sure you passed your test? Absolutely sure?"

"No way could I fail!"

"Gregg, I'm so happy for you, but…"

His hands are on my shoulders, pushing on the padded contours of my uniform while his long tongue slides between my clothes and my skin, trailing across the flesh. Every nerve in my body tingles with excitement and anticipation. My body wants him right then and right there, but my mind is screaming "No, no, no!"

Moby dodges sideways as a pile of books falls over. I find my body pushes up against the smooth and slightly cold surface of the sorting table as Gregg holds me against him, his mouth pressed to mine. Papers flutter past my face on the way to the ground. My eyes are wide open but I'm not feeling anything.

The office is deathly quiet. Everyone else has left for the night. Moby, confused, can only huddle in a corner and watch us with a complete lack of knowledge as to what making out is or what it entails.

Gregg's mouth is so warm against mine. I want this, but I don't want it. I'm so confused. I push him back. "Gregg, I'm so scared… I'm confused… I want to wait until we have the ceremonial paper!"

His eyes look hurt. "You need some piece of paper to tell me you love me?" he asks, his voice gentle and unevenly broken.

"Gregg…"

"Original… please…"

"Gregg, I do love you…" I bite my lip, fingering the promise necklace he gave me. 

"I won't hurt you," are the last words spoken between the two of us before he's on top of my body, with the sorting table beneath my back. My head is thrown back as far as I can, moans and whimpers I don't understand escaping from my mouth. The shirt of my uniform is lying between the small of my back and the cold table. 

I don't know where the rest of my clothes are. I'm covered in the feel of his hands on my skin as I wrap my arms around him, trying not to slide too badly as he pushes himself against my hips. I feels like he's rubbing me raw, and I cry out in pain.

"It hurts," I try to choke through the moans coming from the way my body, though injured, is reacting t the pleasure he's inflicting. 

"I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can!" he pants between groans and sighs. I catch a glimpse of Moby out of the corner of my eyes. He looks horrified, as though fearful that Gregg is actually doing something intended to hurt me.

"Moby, I'm okay…" I try to utter, feeling Gregg's tongue against my chest. I know I don't sound convincing. I can't see it, but I've lost a small amount of blood onto the counter. I won't notice it until the next day, when I'll have to clean it up before I can start stacking and sorting books.

I don't remember what it felt like when Gregg finally reached his peak. It was too concentrated on holding him against me, trying to ignore the first time pain shooting up my spine. I only notice that he's done when he stops moving, slowing my arms and backing out. My body and brain fight between relief to finally be done, and the strange yearning feeling that he hasn't done enough. These feelings confuse me. How could I possibly want more? I'm hurting all over, and feeling ashamed that I'm lying naked on my back in my office, but the yearning won't go away. What are these irrational thoughts? Why won't they leave me alone?

Gregg pulls me up and against my chest. For a moment, it seems that our hearts are beating in unison. He strokes my antennae. "Please, stop trembling. I hate to see you shake. I love you… And in three days, you'll have that certificate. I promise on my life as an Irken soldier, Original. I promise to love you forever…"

The tears on my face have started to dry as I respond to his comment by putting my arms around him, burying my face in the naked expanse of his chest. I can't remember if I actually choked out a declaration of love, or simply shuddered there.

Gregg finally gets up and begins to dress himself, pausing occasionally to ask if I'm all right of if I need help. I shake my head. He's destroyed the underwear Willow helped me pick out, but it was off the clearance rack, so I guess it's not that big of loss. I just feel funny about not having underwear under my pants. I know lots of Irkens like to "go commando," but I'm not one of them.

Strangely, I find that I can walk normally. I hadn't expected to be able to. Other than a few wrinkles no outward sign of what intimate thing just happened remains. I expect Irkens passing us in the hall to be able to look at me and know what I've just done, but not a single pair of eyes lingers on either Gregg or I as we pass. 

Gregg is tired and simply wants to return to the incubator. I ask him if he can hold me, as I'm still not feeling very confident. He does for only five minutes before he falls asleep, my head still pressed against his neck. Only once I know his antennae can't hear it do I sob, my voice breaking the silence. I know I love him, and I don't regret what I did, but crying seems to be the only way to calm my insides, tumbling about like laundry in a dryer.

I don't regret what I did…

The next morning I awake to find a note by my side. Gregg has called my work to let them know that I'm going to be late; he lied and said that I was feeling ill but would tough it out through a half day. In reality, the note claims, he just wanted to give me a chance to get a little extra sleep. The note again professes his love for me and ends with his flowing signature.

Tough it out is exactly how I would describe work that day. I'm still a bit tired and confused, if not physically ill. I guess I don't look all that well, either, as the other librarians come out of their tallest-induced stupor to ask if I feel okay, as I seem pale.

I rest my head against a cool, unopened can of soda. I feel stupid. Other girls handle this kind of thing every day of their lives without missing a beat, and here one time throws me for a complete and total loop. Maybe I am being overly dramatic about the whole thing.

"Original?" a quiet, feminine voice asks from the door. I'm shocked to see Willow standing there, one leg poised behind the other. "The other girls from your office said you looked horrible, but you wouldn't think of taking a whole day off." She holds out an arm. "Come on, you silly girl. You need sleep. The Massive won't explode if you can't sort for a day."

I did insist on staying when the other librarians tried to send me home, but I don't have the strength to fight against someone like Willow. Her arms are strangely soft as she lets me rest against her, walking down the hallway. Despite how horrible I'm feeling, I'm enjoying seeing softness under a normally hard exterior.

"Willow…" I start to say. I want to ask how she does it. If it will stop hurting in the future. If I'll stop feeling guilt… no, no, I don't regret it! I don't feel guilty! Why is my mind telling me all these things, trying to confuse me into not loving my mate? 

"Yes?" Her dark eyes are shining strangely brightly. I would have thought she'd know what I'd done instantly, but if she does there is no acknowledgment of it that I can read by looking at her. I want to ask if it will get better in the future, but I can't bring myself to utter the words. It's too humiliating to ask.

"I need to lie down… I want Gregg…" I whimper, pressing my eyes against the softness of her shoulder. I'm glad Willow's not the bony sort; warmth and softness are what I need at the moment.

"Ssssh. Gregg will return tonight, once he's done with whatever it is those loyalists do."

Loyalist? I want to ask what that means, but we're already in the changing rooms. Willow looks concerned but gives me my privacy to change; I just know she'd know if I had to change in her presence.

I never dreamed Willow could be so gentle or so quiet as she assists me back into my bed and adjusts the temperature settings. "Get better, okay?"

I nod, drifting quickly off into the blackness of sleep.

When I awake, I'm still alone. I look up, my eyes fuzzy. In the darkness I can read the clock. It's four hours past when Gregg should have returned.

I sit up straight, hitting my head on the top of the incubator. Four hours? I begin to panic, throwing open the top. A couple of Irkens nearby look at me, then notice that I'm dressed for sleep and shoot away. They don't want to catch whatever virus I've got.

I stumble to the group phone and lift the receiver, calling Gregg's work number. His answering machine clicks on. "Hello, you've reached Gregg's communicator. Gregg is currently in a training mission on Devastus and will return in three days. If this is Original, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to tell you to your face that I was leaving, but you were sick and I couldn't bear the thought of waking you. Otherwise, if you would like to leave a message, please press five."

I set the receiver down, hot tears in my eyes. I'm sick, I'm tired, and now I'm alone. I try to whimper or cry Gregg's name but the words won't come out.

Instead of words coming to me, a strange dizziness comes. Darkness follows the dizziness, and I collapse to my knees. As the world spins away from me, I can not see Gregg's face.


	12. Song of the Willows

In a world of darkness, small white bubbles float past my face. My body feels suspended, as if there were nothing either above it or below it but open sky. 

__

My young love said to me, my mother won't mind. And my father won't slight you, for your lack of kind.

Everything seems hurried. Green and red shapes dart in and out of the darkness. Voices murmur, filled with static as though being heard over a television.

__

Then she stepped away from me, and this she did say: "It will not be long love,  
till our wedding day".

Another bubble floats past my head. I reach out, trying desperately to grasp it. As my long fingers touch the reflective surface, the bubble pops and slides beyond my reach forever.

__

She stepped away from me, and she moved through the fair. And fondly I watched her.  


Above all, a woman's voice is clear and beautiful. It sings a song I've never heard before, yet heard a million times, in lives I have long since forgotten in favor of this existence. 

__

Moved here and move there. Then she made her way homeward with one star awake. As the swan in the evening, moves over the lake.

When the fog finally begins to clear, I become aware of how brown and smooth the walls are. I'm lying on my back, covered by thick black blankets. This is not my incubator, but it's not a medical ward either. In fact, I don't really know where I am. 

__

I dreamt it last night; that my dead love came in. So softly she moved that her feet made no din. Then she came close beside me.

I reach out but feel nothing, as though my hands can no longer work. From the doorway, a blurry form sweeps into the room, more the ghost of an Irken than a real creature. But as it approaches my bedside it becomes obvious to me that this phantom is singing, and she is the voice I have been hearing echoing in my head. The form glides straight up to me, settling down beside me on the bed. The bed shifts beneath the stranger, and I realize as her hands touch my hot face that this ghost has a physical solidness to her.

__

And this she did say, "It will not be long love, till our wedding day".

When my eyes finally focus, I recognize the rounded contours and sharp edges of Willow's contrasting body. Her long antennae are down, making spirals on the blanket on top of my middle. Her bare hands touch my forehead; her black gloves are folded up in her lap and her sleeves are pushed up, exposing her pale green flesh. I'm surprised by exactly how pale Willow's arms are. Even my own are darker than hers, and I hardly see the light of false daylight.

"How are you feeling," she asks, stirring up a smelly poultice. 

"Like I've been run over by a Megadoomer," I reply, my voice cracked and croaking.

"You should. You've been out cold with the virus that's been going around for the past two days now."

"Two… days? Where's Gregg?"

Willow's eyes reflect something I can't read. "I was hoping you could tell me. No one at his office will tell me anything."

"His mission must be very, very secret…"

Again, that look I can't read. Willow won't let her eyes meet mine. She's thinking something less optimistic than I am, but I won't let her dark moods get me down. Since she says something, I continue. "I'm so happy… we're going to be married, Willow. We're going to be married."

Willow stands up suddenly, nearly knocking the smelly mixture to the ground. "I have some cooking to check on. If you want to rub this on your chest, it will make you feel better." With that she leaves a drink cup and the medicine on the bed stand and retreats into the other room, pulling the sliding screen door shut behind her.

Awake, I roll slightly over. Lying beside me is some sort of lumpy, stuffed animal. It has a larger head with two triangles sticking out of the top. A malformed body with four stubby legs is barely attached to the head. The stitching has the quality of an amateur or perhaps a child first picking up a needle. I lift the stuffed animal up in my arms. The head sags and falls onto the creature's chest, oversized as compared to the rest of the body.

"You poor, sad little thing!" I say softly, setting the stuffed animal back down and trying to right the gargantuan melon. "Did one of Willow's daughters make you? Maybe even one of her sons?"

The stuffed animal doesn't reply, blank yellow eyes staring back at me and seemingly through me. I wonder what animal it was supposed to look like. Maybe it's one too exotic for someone as common as me to know about. 

After about half an hour of lying there I realize my bladder is urgently calling me, threatening to make the bed very wet and unpleasant. "Willow, Willow?" I miserably mew, trying to get her attention. Nothing.

I have, have to go, so I stagger to my feet and crawl towards where I think the main room should be, looking for a bathroom. I've never had a nest myself, so I'm not sure how they're laid out. I'm sure Willow won't mind, after all, who would want me peeing in their bed?

After using her bathroom I stagger out into the main room, searching for her. She's not around, but on the plus side, nor is Raine. She must have had something important to do or an errand to run and figured I would probably simply return to sleep for awhile.

Feeling silly in Willow's overly revealing nightgown, I settle myself down on the luxurious leather couch cushions. Such niceties are things someone of my position, even with a scholarship degree, could never hope to obtain. The only way I could get them would be if Gregg managed to rise to major general someday, but I knew in my heart he would. 

The television channels are filled with boring soap operas. I hope I'm getting better. I'm itching to return to work, to see the mountains piled up and waiting for me to return to scan them. In the mean time, perhaps Willow has something interesting I can read. 

The small bookshelf located to the right and below their television screen has mostly technical books on it, with imposing titles such as "Modern Genetics and Transposable Elements: Practical Uses." 

One book catches my eye, however. It's thick and bound with leather that looks more expensive than even the thick covering on the couch. It has no title on it whatsoever, which makes me more curious than I should be if I don't want to get myself in trouble.

I grab the book in two hands and gentle wiggle it back and forth, dislodging it from under the other books without toppling over the pile. I've become good at that in my days as a librarian. Clutching the worn out, dusty-smelling book I return to the couch, sinking down in the sea of cushions.

I crack open the book. A moth flies out. Happily I snatch the moth out of the air, watching it flutter fearfully between my fingers. I wonder if I'm well enough yet to be snacking. Well, one can't hurt I figure as I pop the moth in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

The first few pages are boring, average amateur photographs of birds and trees. Most of them are taken either through a window, as I can see the black marks where the panes are held together. The rest are still taken from a very high angle, as if shot when that window were opened instead of shut.

Then comes a high up shot of a young Irken girl, ruby eyes wide and brilliant. She's wearing a light yellow sundress. A worn out, browned suitcase is beside her. One of her hands lingers on the suitcase; the other is shading her eyes as she looks up. The wind is blowing her long, curled antennae back somewhat and making her dress billow around her legs. She's pretty, and I can't help but wonder who she is.

The next page answers my question. There are two large photographs of the same girl. In the top picture she's wearing a light blue work uniform. Her antennae are clipped back. She's sitting on the end of a bed covered in quilts, smiling shyly. 

The picture directly below that is taken from a low angle, like the camera were lying on the ground. Back in the yellow sundress, the strange girl is standing up on top of a swing. Blurry lines in the photo indicate that the swing is moving, and the look on her face shows that she's having a good time. The picture, however, is taken from such an angle that a little glimpse of her panties are showing, a sign of a far more mature female hidden underneath the innocent façade.

I recognize the smile on the girl's face instantly. The lightly dressed child is a younger version of Willow, I realize with a slight start. The fact that her antennae are straight and strong, rather than split, and that she's a twig rather than curvy threw me off, but there's no mistaking the look on her face or the way she carries herself in that photograph.

The photographs in the book seem to follow Willow through the years as I flip the pages, but something darker is also happening in them. In the first series of photographs, seemingly taken on a lush farm, her eyes are bright and healthy. She always seems to be smiling, even when caked in layers of muck and dirt and holding a manure encrusted pitchfork in her hands.

Then, I turn the page and the picture changes entirely. There's Willow, lying on her belly with her dress pulled up around her hips, obviously asleep and probably unaware of the vulnerable position she's being photographed in. 

The most striking pictures are of the mating ceremony, when her and Raine were declared official mates. Her smile looks forced, whereas only two pages earlier than are several pictures of her and Raine looking genuinely happy, their arms and antennae entwined as they flash funny hand signs at the camera. Why, then, did her happiness seem to fall through in the two pages it took to get to her wedding?

I turn back to a photo of Willow and Raine spinning one another around in the grass, and one of him tying a flower to her antennae. The grass is luscious and green beneath their boots. That's my answer. In the photographs of the wedding a whole season has passed, as the plants are browning to give way to the frozen winter months.

"What happened?" I mutter to myself out loud as I flip past the sad-faced mating ritual photos. "Between summer and fall? Why'd you fall out of love?"

The next few photos are taken in a decrepit, run-down nest. Willow is holding up a cockroach like a human fisherman would hold up a prize fish. The smile on her face is, however, one again earnest. She's truly happy, and I doubt catching such a delicious cockroach is the reason for it. 

The next few photos show her in a lab. She's only a novice employee, gesturing to a microscope. In another photo, she's make lewd gestures with the same microscope. But again, she looks happy. Not like the angry, impulsive Willow I know at all.

The next page of photos shows a very swollen, pregnant Willow sticking out her midsection and pouting at the camera. She looks miserable, yet glows with that light expecting mothers radiate at the same time. A congratulatory banner hangs in the background.

Pasted on the next page is a photograph of Willow standing in front of a large ship, still looking hideously pregnant. Raine is standing beside her, smiling in a rather frightening way at whoever is taking the picture. There are two more small pictures of Willow on board a ship, looking off-color but happy.

And there is where the photographs end. No pictures of their destination. No pictures of Willow with the smeets she was carrying. No pictures of Willow with her antennae split. 

I let the book lie in my lap. What happened between that trip and now? Why aren't there any photos of it? The book is less than half full. True, they could have started a new book, but it doesn't make sense to waste all that space. 

I shut the book and return it to its place on the shelving unit, being careful so that Willow and Raine won't notice that I've been peeping. I only wanted something to read, but I feel horribly shameful for peering into their private lives and not stopping when I realized exactly what it was I had laid before me.

About an hour later Willow returns, carrying a large sack filled with food items. I smile at her as best I can, but her eyes refuse to meet mine. "Willow?" I ask, wobbling out into the kitchen.

Willow sits on her knees, her antennae hanging limply down her back in an ungraceful manner, shoving cans half-heartedly into the shelving units. After a long pause, she sighs and lifts her face to mine. "Original… something very bad has happened."

---

Sorry chapter was short; I am uninspired for some reason of late.


	13. You've got to be crazy to go to Dirt

Chapter 13… The unlucky chapter! Unlucky mainly because you had to wait for it! But here it is!

Yo, guys, I have a new story up in the "R" rated stories section. Don't know how to get R-rated stories? Well, go to the main page and change the G--- PG13 scroll down bar to "All." Otherwise, if you're just interested in seeing my new story, it'll show up when you click on my pen name and the "stories authored" list comes up.

***

Shuddering, I put an arm on Willow's shoulder. She's solid under my touch, her eyes hard and set. "Willow… tell me what happened. Please, tell me what happened."

Willow sighs softly, leaning back. "This isn't going to be easy to say. You see… every year they give the test, there's a surprise section. This year, the surprise test was to climb a two story rope ladder and swing across an open gap."

"Oh Gods! Gregg fell, didn't he! Gregg fell!" I cry, violently weeping into my hands."

"He couldn't have fallen. He didn't even make it more than ten feet up the rope."

I pause, my heart freezing in my chest. Somewhere in the whirl of thoughts rushing through my mind, I'm taken back to that night after the Tallests' ball, ascending the stairs to Willow's nest. I remember Gregg screaming in terror at the heights. I remember how pale he was, how his heart was shuddering, how…

I burst into tears again, pushing my face into Willow's chest. She wraps her long, muscular arms around me, holding me tight as I choke and whimper against her. "Shush, shush," she whispers, patting my antennae.

Suddenly it all comes together, all the pieces fitting to make a horrible puzzle. Gregg knew he failed. How could he not know he'd failed, when he'd been unable to complete an entire section of the test? Feeling the end loom over his head, he'd come to my work to make love to me without admitting that it was the last time he'd be able to hold me. Without telling me that it was the last time I'd be able to hold him.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "Willow, what is," I choked, "what is going to happen to him?"

"He'll be deported to Food Courtia… or worse, Dirt," Willow shuddered, sticking out her tongue. "Anyone who'd go to planet Dirt willingly would have to be in… NO. NO. I may be crazy, but I'm not that crazy!"

"Please, Willow! I have to see him, even if it's just to say goodbye!" I weep, digging my fingers into the front of her uniform. She pushes me off, backpedaling as fast as possible no her hands and heels. 

"WILLOW!" I cry as she sprints to her heels, bursting out the room. Suddenly realizing exactly how alone I am, without even Moby to hold in my arms, I curl up and weep bitterly to myself.

Outside in the hallway, Willow collapses against the barrier preventing the careless from falling down to the floor below. Her head leans back, her antennae sweeping the floor. Her eyes are shut, hot tears oozing out of them.

"So that's it?" Raine asks softly, his eyes distant.

Willow looks accusingly up at him, brushing her hands against her antennae. "What are you talking about?"

"Your friend. She's hurting and in pain, and you ran away."

Willow stands up, joining him to lean on the railing. "Shut up, Raine. You've done more running away from other Irken's pain than I can count, as well as your own pain."

"So have you," Raine snaps. "Damn, I wish I hadn't quit smoking," Raine mutters, wringing his fingers as he stares out over the empty corridor of the Massive.

"But you did."

"Mmm, yes. But that's not the question. The question is, what are you going to do about her? There's a girl in there that's really hurting. She needs you to help her, Willow, so put aside your selfish ambitions of getting in the sack with her and do what's best of her, not for yourself. Even if that means tracking down that male."

Willow glares at him out of one eye. "What makes you think I'd take your advice?"

"Because as much as you hate me, as much as what we once felt for each other is gone… you know I'm right."

A long period of silence passes between the two, heavy and oppressive as the air right before a major storm is unleashed. Finally, Willow slams her fist against the banister and stomps her high-heeled boot hard against the ground. "Damn it. I hate it when you're right."

With that, Willow storms back into the room where I'm sitting, shakily trying to put the bits of a shattered mind back together. "Get dressed," Willow orders.

I look up at her, my eyes as glazed as fresh donuts. "Why?" I ask.

"We're going to get your boyfriend. ACK! No hugging! No hugging! Come on, Orig, you're wrinkling up my uniform!"

Willow assists me in buckling my seatbelt. I've never been in a private ship before, so I'm not quite sure how the darn things work. "I hacked the main computer system frame. I know where to find him."

"What happens… when we find him?" I ask.

"That'll be up to you," Willow says quietly as she adjusts her own belt. "Maybe you can convince him to come back and be a house husband. You do have your Scholarship degree now, and you don't have to pass any test to sit around raising smeets…, which, I'll say, is one of the saddest things I've ever heard in my life. There are some Irkens that just shouldn't have offspring."

I bite my lip. Saying "like you?" would be just too tempting at the moment. "Where'd you get this ship?" I ask.

"This ship? Oh, it's Raine's."

"He said we could use it?"

Willow looks at me like I just said the funniest thing ever. "No. But what's he going to do about it? Chase us without a ship?"

The ship's engines fire lightly, pushing us onto a black metal track. A chain ejects out of the floor, hooking onto the bottom of the small ship and pulling us along the metal floor. We're moving so slowly that walking Irkens could go faster than us, which is frankly fine with me. Going fast is too scary for this little librarian, uh-huh.

"We gonna have FUN!" Moby chirps from the back, where Willow bolted him to the wall to prevent him from flying around and hitting our heads during take off or landing.

"Yes, Moby, we are," I coo brightly. The ship suddenly jerks, the nose lifting off the ground at a forty-five degree angle. The chain pulls us slowly upward, ever climbing.

"Willow, what's going on?" I ask, a bit confused. This is more like riding a roller coaster than watching a ship launch…

"Oh, the Massive has a lot of problems with incoming and outgoing ships crashing into one another. So now, they slingshot the outgoing ships out of the Massive on a pre-approved route. That way incoming ships don't get in the way."

"Oh that's nice," I say, then I pause. "Wait… did you say _slingshot?_"

All of the sudden the ship jerks vertical. I'm not sure exactly what happened next, but my eyes must have tripled in size as I let out a screech of "IEEEEEEEEEEE!" There's nothing ahead of us but a roller coaster like track of metal and empty black space, punctuated by unflickering stars. 

The ship drops sharply into space, rocketing at speeds I've probably traveled at before, but that I haven't been so sharply aware of. The world around us turns to a blur of red and purple metal, occasionally punctuated by the silver of the track. Large, solid, white rings surround us on the track every few dozen feet. Every time we pass through one the ship lurches and the surroundings get a bit blurrier. 

Willow's laughing her ass off, her antennae flailing back behind her. I'm screaming and holding onto the seat, mentally shouting "Don't pee on yourself, don't pee on yourself, don't pee on yourself!" 

My legs flail wildly as the ship turns upside down, sailing through another white ring. "Wheee!" Willow cries.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Moby cries, obviously imitating Willow.

"I wanna get off the riiiiiide!" I shout, my fingers dug into the Oh Shit handle so tightly that Willow will have to pry them off once we get into open space.

"Come on, Orig, live a little! How often do you get to take off from the Massive?"

"One too many times for me to live a safe and happy life already, thank you very much!" I shout back. The nose of the ship lurches violently forward for a moment before correcting itself, turning on its side as we pass through another white metal ring. My legs flail helplessly in the air but I'm hardly aware of the sensation.

"I wanna gooooo hoooooooooooome!"

"What about Gregg?" Willow calls back as the entire ship seems to shudder around us. Moby is clinging to the back of her seat, laughing in a chiming mechanical voice.

"Couldn't we have taken the teleporters?"

Willow pauses. "Guess we could have. But this is much more fun!"

I groan as the ship is launched finally into the blackness of space, the stars around us failing to twinkle as we shoot through the blackness, heading for our destination.

"Seven," Willow counts as she pries my fingers off the Oh Shit handle. "One finger left to go!"

My teeth still chattering, and my skin still abnormally pale, I hardly notice. Moby is sitting on my shuddering lap, appreciating the view from space and humming the theme to "2001: A Space Odyssey." I am going to have to do something about his programming when we get back; I manage to think through the fear-induced haze in my brain.

"Boy, you really did get scared," Willow says as she pries my last finger off the handle and works on shoving my mechanical legs back into my pack. "Mechanical legs don't usually pop out until after you've dookied yourself." She sniffs the air. "I'm glad you didn't; this ship doesn't have a bathroom. Congratulations."

"Thanks. I think," I reply. "Moby, could you hum a bit quieter, please? Master has a headache."

Willow digs through a small cooler strapped to the wall in back, pulling out a red and orange can and tossing it to me. "Here, drink this. It'll steady your nerves."

I push it away. "No thanks. Soda makes me have to pee."

"Can you hold it for about fifty-six minutes? The ship says that'll be how long it'll be until we reach the docking ports of Dirt, and you can go there. Now drink the damn drink, I'm not going to have you fainting on me."

The drink is overly sweet, to the point of being disgusting. It tastes like liquid gummy worm, perhaps combined with a hint of licorice. Yuck, yuck, and yuck are the three words that come to mind to describe it. Willow explains that there's something mixed in to prevent ship sickness, and that's why I have to endure it, but I'm not listening.

I'm thinking of what I'm going to say to Gregg when I see him. His eyes will widen in surprise, and perhaps he'll weep. I'll throw my arms around him, and he'll throw his arms around me. We'll hold one another, and then I'll beg him to come home. I'll tell him it doesn't matter to me if he doesn't have a big, important job. I'll tell him that I don't care if it hurts his pride, but I'll provide for the both of us… somehow. I'll ask him to finally become my legal mate like he promised. I'll ask him to keep his promise, and he will, and everything will be fine again. We'll get by. We'll get by… somehow.

Raine's ship lightly touches down on the surface of Dirt, making as near of perfect landing as possible considering that, like most things on Dirt, the track is made out of mud and dust and parts of downed ships. Dirt, you see, is but one of Irk's many trash-dumping planets.

Over the course of a great many years, the slaves assigned to Dirt from all walks of life will convert all the scrap metal back to useable metal. Everything will be recycled… eventually. Or so the Irken Government says, Willow informs me as we stalk through customs. The problem is, trash comes in much faster than it will ever go out.

Failing tests, writing nasty things about the tallests, forming rebellions, refusal to obey the commands of a military superior… all are grounds for expulsion to Dirt, Food Courtia, or any other one of the filth-filled planets the Irken Empire is in control of. 

"In other words," Willow says as we get in an uncomfortably small, whining elevator, "These planets aren't just planets for plastic trash. They're planets for Irkens deemed to be trash."

The elevator shakes each time it passes another floor. "That's terrible."

"That's the Irken Empire."

The elevator door slides open and lets us out on the ground floor of Dirt. There is virtually no customs inspection to get onto Dirt. It's getting out that requires long, often embarrassing inspections. After all, who in their honest right mind would want to get on to Dirt? It's everyone who's already there that wants to get off.

Two hungry-eyed smeets in rags look up at us, holding out little empty tins. Willow hesitates in front of them before continuing on. Once we're out of antennae shot, she whispers back to me "I wanted to give them something. I really did. But then every single poor smeet in the area would be at our feet, begging with their starved eyes."

"Why aren't they in training?"

"Their parents are probably slaves here. The Empire doesn't care what happens to the children of slaves. It doesn't want the children of slaves."

"Oh," I say, my head down.

"Don't drag behind me. There are a lot of desperate Irkens and others here, and you'd look like the weakest member of the herd."

I nod and speed up to walk at her side, suddenly imagining that the piles of scrap metal surrounding us on either side are walls of eyes. The eyes look hungrily down, straight through my clothes and down to the delicious flesh and bones they could crunch.

We pass by a virtual tower of dysfunctional, dead looking robot slave units. It looks like the ending of a cheap horror movie, but with less Irken blood splattered all over the machine units. A few are dangerously leaking oil, threatening a fire if someone carelessly threw a cigarette nearby. 

"This entire planet is a fire trap," Willow comments with a shrug as I point it out to her. Her eyes are set and determined, her antennae swinging only slightly as she stomps through the trash, avoiding anything that looks like it might contain something that would stick to her heels.

She's trying to radiate a "leave as alone. We're not an easy target," aura. I think she's doing a great job. The two thick, ugly males blocking the path apparently don't agree with us.

The one-antennaed male grins. "Hey, girlies, what you cuties doing on a planet like this? Give us a kiss, loves,"

Willow holds her antennae high and ignores them. I attempt to do the same, but all the spunk seems to have gone out of my antennae. The other male reaches out and comes within an inch of grabbing my leg when Willow whirls around, striking his hand amazingly hard with one quick flick of a spider leg.

"Ow, babe, what'd you do that for?"

"Stop picking on my girlfriend!" Willow proclaims loudly, putting an arm around me and landing a big kiss on my cheek. The two males look at one another, make a rude hand gesture I've never seen before, and slink off.

"That took care of them…"

"What took care of them?" Willow asks, grinning in mock confusion. "Come on, Gregg's station isn't much further."

Climbing over a pile of rusted crescent-moon shaped ships, Willow peeks her head out. "I see his station. Look out for rust spots, don't tear your gloves."

"That's the fifth time you've warned me!" I cry, meekly following her. Librarians aren't exactly the built for adventure sorts. Standing beside her, I pant for a moment before hope fills my eyes. "There he is! I see him!" I pause. "What have they done to him? He's all scratched up!"

"They call it "hazing," dear. It ain't pretty. Come on, let's get down before someone decides to take pot shots at us with old beer cans." With that, she extends her spider legs and nimbly jumps down the pile in three bounds.

It takes me more like seven jumps, and even then I almost fall flat on my face. Fortunately, Willow catches me. My face falls straight into her chest and there's a few moments of awkward apologizing and insistence that it's okay afterwards, before we press on to confront Gregg.

"Gregg!" I cry when we finally get near enough for him to hear us. My arms reach outward, extending towards him.

He lifts his head and looks up at Willow and I like we were hateful, vile things. "What are you doing here?" he snaps. 


	14. Willow's Frozen Dreams

"G… Gregg? What's the mater, honey, don't you remember me?" The words sound hollow. I didn't even recognize the voice. It was like a foreigner was speaking from within me, squeaking my lungs and throat into an unintelligible form. 

He looks back down at the old ship he'd been busy breaking the seats out of. "Why did you come here?"

"To bring you home… it's okay if you're not a soldier! I just want to be with you!" I cry, throwing myself forward and burying myself in his chest.

He recoils like someone had just attacked him with some kind of contagion, not looking at my face. "You've got to be kidding, right? A failed soldier is no good at all, and shouldn't even be allowed to live. It's only by the grace of the Empire that I wasn't execu…"

"STOP IT! I don't believe that shit, and I don't believe that you do either!" The words are falling out of my mouth as fast as my tears fall from my eyes, sounding more like words Willow would use than anything I knew I was capable of saying. "It doesn't matter to me if you're not a top-class number one ranked soldier. I didn't fall in love with you because of your rank. I fell in love with you because of you."

He slams down the pick-ax, spinning around with nothing but coldness shining in the eyes I used to love to see looking down at me from the darkness. "Don't you get it, you stupid twit? I only needed you to make myself look good to my superiors." He turns his back on me. "Now that everything I had hoped for is gone, I don't need you. You should just… leave. Leave me alone." He rubs his arms, shivering.

"Gregg…" All the muscle tone leaves my body and I collapse to my knees in a half layer of grime and filth. "I know you don't mean that… you're just depressed about failing your test… I don't care about your test… please come back to me… please come back…"

His back still turned to my face, he throws the pick-ax over his shoulder and trudges off with the rest of the prisoners, never looking back. 

The tears won't come. No matter how long I thought about it afterwards, the tears never came. There are things in this world that shatter the soul to the point where tears would mean nothing, not even the slightest bit of comfort to your mourning. The death of a child, losing one's home and treasured possessions to fire, standing among corpses on a battle field… those are all moments beyond tears. But for someone whose life scope is as small as mine, this was one of those moments.

_Oh, can't anybody see, we've got a war to fight. Never found our way, regardless of what they say. How can it feel this wrong? From this moment, how can it feel this wrong?_

"Orig… Orig…" Willow puts a gloved hand gently on mine. "Can you walk?"

I don't have to try to know the answer to that, as I shake my head no, my palms pressed so hard into my closed eyes that white lights dance before my vision.

"Try to get up. We should get out of here before dark… Orig… Please…"

My body is not mine to control any more. I shudder as I try to shake my head no. I would have blown right over at the slightest wind had Willow not been kneeling beside me, her strong arms around my shoulders. 

Hesitantly, like a clumsy man handling fine china, she puts her arms around me. Her long limbs wrap beneath my arms, her chin resting on my shoulder. Her long, split antennae brush across my face for a moment when the cold wind passes us. Instinctively and against my will, my arms go around her and clutch aimlessly at her back. She's so warm, so very warm…

_Storm… in the morning light, I feel, no more can I say, frozen to myself. I got nobody on my side, and surely that ain't right. And surely, that ain't right._

"I'm sorry… I never would have let you get involved with him if I'd known…"

"Do you think… even if you had known… I would have let you stop me?"

Her body shakes slightly, in what could almost be a laugh cut down early by depression. "No. No. You're too stubborn to let me do that, which is one of the reasons why I like you so much." She leans back, taking my chin in her right hand and raising my eyes to meet hers. "Come on, kid… there's no reason for us to stay here." 

_Oh, can't anybody see, we've got a war to fight? Never found our way, regardless of what they say. How can it feel this wrong, from this moment? How can it feel this wrong?_

She stands up, dragging me to my feet and hiking me up onto her back. My arms wrap around her neck as she takes my legs in her hands and brings them up. "Hold on tight, okay? I don't want to drop you on anything sharp."

I nod and bury my face in her back, right above her identification pack. The pack hums faintly, a sound most Irkens never get close enough to one another to notice. It's almost like the wings of a very tiny hummingbird.

Winding our way back across an entire planet dedicated to the excesses of war, it suddenly dawns on me that perhaps, there are things bigger than my own heart ache. But, I don't want to think about that at the moment. I just want to wallow in my own self-pity. I know it's not the patriotic thing to do. I know it's not the right thing to do for the good of the entire Empire. But it's what I want to do, and damn it, can't it be about me for once in my life?

__

Oh can't anybody see, we've got a war to fight. Never found our way, regardless of what they say. How can it feel this wrong, from this moment, how can it feel this wrong?

Sound asleep in the back of the ship is how Willow leaves me, all my energy having left my body through my eyes and trickled down my skin in invisible rivers. Moving as silently as a high-heeled ghost of a woman possibly can, she sets herself down in front of the control panel. She resists the urge to slam her fists into the ship walls, knowing it will wake me and I need the sleep.

"Damn you, Raine," she weeps into the silence. "Why did you make me bring her here? It would have been just as good to leave him as the dead! She wouldn't have to hurt like we do!"

The blue glow coming off the control panel lights her skin an odd turquoise as her red eyes fail to focus on anything but the incoming night overhead. "Damn you… you knew… damn you…" 

Unwilling to admit that she might have perhaps wanted Gregg to turn out that way, just to prove herself right, she buries her face in her arms and sleeps.

In her dreams, she is young again. Very young, barely a smeet hiding behind her mother's legs. The mother doesn't even seem to notice the hapless smeet resting behind her as she stretches, nearly kicking the infant in the head. The smeet squeaks and falls over backwards, then giggles at the novelty of being able to see the ceiling so easily.

"This is your cousin," he's introduced. A petulant young Irken with dark red eyes, of relatively short and thick stature, with arms too long for his body comes into the room. "He lost his parents in the big fire. He's come to live with us now. He'll be like your brother. Yes, we'll call him your brother…" Her mother's eyes are full of stars.

They had always wanted a boy.

Fast-forward a good ten, fifteen years down the road. She always forgets how long in her dreams. The little forgotten child, poor Whisper, the given name that she rejected and left behind many years ago with the rest of her past, sits on a swing by herself. She's in her formidable teen years, and has two parents who will theoretically love and guide her through them.

But they don't love her. They love their adopted "son." They love their son so much, what's the purpose in even noticing they have a daughter? No, there is no point…

Her brother, she's forgotten his name now with time, yet he meant so much to her that's a silly thing for her to forget. Perhaps she remembers it when she's awake, but she'd never admit that. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her close to his chest. He smells vaguely of dust.

"Did momma hit you again?"

She nods into his chest as he strokes her antennae, her small and not yet split antennae. "You shouldn't have been in the kitchen when she was trying to cook something. You know she blames you for anything that goes wrong in the kitchen."

She nods again, relishing his gentle touch on her back. "Sister, you're not a curse. It cuts me to hear her say that to you… it's not your fault you're their only child."

"What about you?"

"You know I don't really belong in this family…" his fingers trace slowly along the contours of her face. "Sister, I want to give you things that will make you happy… you just have to do a few little favors for me, okay?"

She swallows deep in her throat, but she trusts him. "What kind of favors?"

"I'll show you. You'll like them," he says, guiding her by hand. She can't remember where he first took her, only that the loft in the family barn would become their retreat for later. It was probably somewhere off in the woods. At that time, he was still worried about being caught.

Out in the depths of the woods, once he was certain he wouldn't be found, he lays his young sister down in the leaves. She trembles once or twice under his touch, but she trusts him. He's the only one in the family that gets between the flat of their mother's hand and her skin.

In her dreams, he's always gentle as he strips her down and pushes himself inside her, tearing not-quite-yet-developed body parts. She bites her own antennae to still her screams, as he's promised to buy her those new antennae clips she'd been admiring that mother and father say are too expensive. But all the other girls have them… it makes her feel odd, like an outsider, to simply have to stare at them through a glass window.

Her body and her antennae left torn and bleeding, her brother cleans her as best he can with leaves, and begs her not to tell their parents. She's crying, but she's convinced it's from joy. To be able to do something so adult, when she's so young, with the brother who means so much to her… the sensation is the world to her.

Years pass… three very, very lucky years pass, and for once the little outsider has the things she needs to fit in. Sharing an "adult" secret with her brother gives her confidence, which improves her looks and her posture from moderate to desirable. Something about her glows in a way the other girls can't match. In her dreams, she calls it experience. 

Her material needs are met by her brother, as presents in return for sharing his secret. She doesn't tell him that she'd share the secret for free; he's her only means of getting the material things she feels she needs to fit in. 

And then the luck comes crashing down. She's ill, she's vomiting, she can hardly get up in the morning, but these parts she cares to skip over in her dreams. She's only taken to the doctor after she collapses on the floor of the gym; her parents refused to take her. The doctor's grim diagnosis: the small female is pregnant.

Until they hear it from his own mouth, they refuse to believe that her precious cousin-brother, the favored son, could be responsible. They blame her for it, the call her a whore, they accuse her of seducing her "innocent" brother. In her dreams, it's a clear night when she runs away from home, burn marks crossing her face. In reality, it was such a muggy hot night that she could hardly move, let alone run. The only reason she got away at all was because no one pursued her.

The eggs, which mean the world to her, are laid in the bathroom of a home for troubled girls. She has them there because she'd overheard one of the teachers planning to let the nursing students in a nearby training program deliver the eggs for practice. The idea of baring her body for an entire class of students humiliates her to the point where she nearly bleeds to death on a cold tile floor as the alternative.

Sometimes she wonders what became of those eggs, but her dreams are neither the time nor the place for that kind of musing. Dreams are too short for that. By that time, the dream has already moved on to a young girl, wearing a yellow standard-issue sundress, bouncing along in a rough ship beside a sixty-something male that she hardly knows.

She's been hired to work as help around his mansion that summer. All her possessions fit in a cardboard suitcase, for if she left them behind while she went off for the summer the other girls would surely steal them.

"Young one," he says, "You are the luckiest girl of your class, even if you don't know it." With that, he stops and provides her with two new leather suitcases, and all the fineries and toiletries necessary to fill them. She is confused, she remembers thinking that he must surely intend to sleep with her. Why else would anyone buy her such lavish gifts?

"I want you to be the woman to marry my son," he says, putting his aged wrinkled hands around hers. "My wife, his mother, keeps him a virtual prisoner in his room. He's never seen a girl as lovely as you. Just think, if you fall in love with him, you'll never have to starve again." His eyes are bright, and suddenly for one bright moment, her future seems just as bright. She doesn't care if his son is the most horrible cripple ever. To be warm and fed is all she wants…

Standing on the front lawn, looking up at the window to what the man has pointed out as his son's room, she sees the flash of a camera going off. She blinks; even in her dreams the man didn't see it. 

To her surprise, the boy is nice looking, if a bit pale from being confined to his bed. His mother tells him lies about his legs, tells him they don't work, tells him he's too sick to go outside and play with the other kids. She tells him she doesn't believe that nonsense, and she smuggles him outside when his mother is away at rich tea parties.

They careen around the mansion, rolling his wheelchair down hills at dangerously high speeds. They spook the livestock and the other servants. But the servants don't mind being scared… they've never seen young master Raine so happy in all his weak existence. 

He takes pictures of her, sometimes odd pictures, but she doesn't mind. It's like a game to her. She stays on guard and manages to thwack him when he approaches her with his camera. If she loses her guard, he manages to sneak up and take a shot of her panties. She doesn't really mind all that much, compared to her brother's betrayal of her body this is clean, innocent fun.

He asks her to marry him as she's getting ready to get back on the convoy back to her school. She feels guilty accepting. He doesn't even know her real name. He only knows her as Willow, the orphaned daughter of two Invaders, the identity his father created for her to make her acceptable to Raine's overbearing mother. To tell the truth, she no longer feels like Whisper. Whisper is no more than a shell that had been hiding Willow all those years.

But as the next year passes, the personality she calls Willow becomes a deadly poison in her veins. Willow doesn't want to marry Raine and simply be warm and happy. Willow doesn't care if she freezes, so long as she's free. Whisper's priority was safety. Willow's priority is freedom.

But she goes through with the marriage to Raine anyway, even if she does it without smiling. She feels obligated to marry him, even though she's certain in her heart that she doesn't love him. No, she never loved him. It was only a childhood crush that faded rather than grew stronger with distance. Yet still she stands at his side and kisses him when they're officially declared mates, that piece of legal paper the only real bond between the young couple.

She hides the coldness as she enters training in the genetics program by his side, claiming that she doesn't want to leave his side. He buys this, and lets her in on all the secrets he's learned from his top-notch geneticist father. She hoards the secrets like gems inside her, surpassing all the females in her class and garnering words of praise from her teachers.

It's no surprise, then, that when Raine's father retires he passes the mantle of lead geneticist for the Smeet Section on to his son, and it's no surprise his son names his beloved mate to his second in command. The first years are good, then comes the mission of collecting genetic samples from Irkens station on a distant planet, to determine if the planet's environment were damaging their genes.

When the ship takes off, she's very far along with her and Raine's third set of smeets, the earlier two sets having been sent off to the training programs without so much as a wave from their parents. This time though, Raine thinks, they've finally got enough prestige to be able to hire a nanny to raise their infants while they're at work. She's looking forward to being a real mother for the first time in her life.

While she is off exploring the planet, despite being warned not to, the ships are attacked. The base is destroyed; alarm sirens blare warning every living Irken on the planet to get back to the ships to make an emergency escape. She's too far away when the warning sirens go off to make it back in time, tears drip from her eyes as she watches the ships fly off into the distance.

She's in shock at first. How could Raine leave her and their unborn eggs behind like that, she asks herself as she wanders through the burning remains of the base. She wouldn't have let them take her aboard the ships without him. They'd promised that if one of them were left behind, the other would wait for them. Apparently, her life meant nothing to Raine when his own life was in question.

The eggs were born in the charred remains of the base, where she slept during the day and crept out during the night to feed on what few insects she could catch. Despite her best efforts to keep the eggs warm, the tiny smeets died within minutes of being born, as she had absolutely no way to get the necessary packs for their survival.

She burned their bodies in the center of what remained of the base; not caring if it gave her away to the enemy. Without Raine and without her children, her body had no will to live anyway. Her dreams have blocked out exactly what happened, how she came to awaken in the middle of the enemy's village, but she remembers her first thought being "Why aren't I dead?"

The villagers turn out to be kind and wonderful creatures, not the monsters the ship commander warned her would eat her up if she dared stray too far from the base. They feed her and bring her back to health; bearing no ill will against her as they can tell that she is not a soldier from how poor of condition she was in. She grows to love the people of the planet and all their ways. She grows to have a place in their society, and she's happier than she's ever been in her life.

Then the Irkens return. She runs to the ships and falls to her knees, pleading for the lives of the planet's inhabitants, but she can't stop the bloodthirsty generals and their legions of armies. She's knocked unconscious and chained to a wall so that she can't hurt herself, supposedly. Through tear-filled eyes, she watches as the people who had made her happier than she ever thought she could be are slaughtered. She tries to kill herself when she spots the bloody hide of her closest friend hanging off a drying rack the next day.

In her pain, she comes to hate the Empire. Returned to Raine's arms, he tries to change her mind. They were dangerous, he says. They were monsters. She tells him she doesn't buy his shit. He tells her thoughts could have her tortured for treason.

She lays their fourth set of eggs, actually a single egg, against her will. She never wanted to let Raine touch her again for leaving her there, for not stopping the massacre of those she loved, but Raine is insistent and the law is on his side. The smeet she holds in her arms, however, she finds beautiful, and falls in love all over again.

This tiny smeet had only one arm, the other arm being nothing more than a stump. His eyes are dark black. He fails to respond to visual cues; it's likely that he's at least partially blind. She doesn't care. She caresses his tiny body as she cleans the bits of egg from his happily squeaking form.

Then the soldiers come, knocking her over and ripping her tiny smeet from her arms. She cries his name as she's restrained, watching him carried away. She screams for him as he cries out for her, as the doctors who deemed him too deformed to live inject the lethal poison into his veins. She breaks free from the soldiers in an act of sheer adrenaline and runs down to the disposal lab, only to find that the most she can do is hold her dead son in her arms.

What would have broken any other woman made her stronger, more dangerous than she'd even been. The last piece of Whisper that still struggled in her soul died, leaving behind a cold and empty chamber in the center of her chest. She attacks Raine when he tries to touch her; after awhile they no longer mate. In her mind, she's decided what she must do. Killing the tallests won't change anything; they'll simply be replaced by creatures of a similar nature. No, she must replace the tallests… replace them with a passionate creature.

In the darkness of the night she attempts to steal the tallests' genes, to breed a smeet upon herself that will grow tall enough to become ruler of the Empire. She will raise this smeet herself, with all the love she can give it. Raine catches her on her way out of the lab, and the smeet is ripped from her body to be raised as just another nameless soldier in a tube. She cries for her black-eyed son, she cries for the son or daughter she never even got to feel within her. 

For several long years, she lives only in dreams. Frozen in a cryogenic tube designed to house dangerous anti-Empire criminals, those long years of her life drain away as quickly as the tears that froze to her face. She doesn't remember what she dreamed all those years; she doesn't even remember if she dreamed.

She dreams of the moment when she woke up, finding her once beautiful antennae split and dark wrinkles forming under her eyes from how badly dehydrated her skin was. Being a vain creature at heart, this is the last straw in ripping apart her soul. Nothing of innocence remains in her; she is a shattered being.

She is a monster.

That's the point in Willow's dreams where she always wakes up. This dream is no exception; she's jarred awake with dried tears on her face and splattered across the control panel. It's the middle of the night, but she knows she can't sleep again after _that_ dream. She never sleeps again after that dream.


	15. This Promise

Author's Note: Wow, I can't even really say "Better late than never" now, can I? I feel so horrible about not updating, especially after how I yanked the last chapter. I think it's because I yanked the last chapter that I've been avoiding updating, because… I've never taken a chapter back before, but it really went against the grain of everything this story is about. You may be able to see where I had intended to go with this chapter, and I think you'll agree that I made the right decision.

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            I still feel numb, more lost than I ever have in my still-young life. Willow wraps a blue blanket, soft yet scratchy, around my shoulders. I can't feel warmth or cold, but I appreciate the meaning behind the gesture. 

            She flops herself down beside me. "I'm sorry Gregg was… wasn't… what you thought he was. In all honesty- I have to tell you that I'm not, either. These split antennae are no accident- no accident, not like yours."

            I look over and up into her face, and suddenly I seem to be able to see wrinkles lining every corner of her face. It's like she's aged thirty years right before my oval eyes. "Willow…"

            "Dee. I was put in cold-freeze prison for illegally conceiving Dee. I stole the tallests' genes, thinking that I could raise a future tallest- one who could make sense out of this festering, infected shit-wound of a life. But I… I only robbed myself of that which was everything to me. My vanity… my vanity was my life, is my life. And Dee? What can I say? She's a perfect Irken now- a perfect Irken, not the kind who changes worlds."

            There's a long, hesitant silence between us. "When I go back," I say finally, "I'm going to apply for that promotion. When I get my new job, I'm going to find a guy that really likes me. Really, really likes me, likes me for me. Even if I can't, it won't matter because I've got friends like Moby…" I put a gloved hand on hers, "and you."

            She half-smiles at me, then looks up at the blue-white and yellow stars overhead, and she quietly sings in the language of mothers brooding eggs, the language that never falls upon the antennae of grown men. Dirt crickets chirp in the silence trailing her voice, and one scrambles across the surface of my boot, cracked wings shining in the yellow sodium light.

            "Do you mean that? Are you ever Gregg already?"

            "I doubt I'll ever get _over_ Gregg, but I can move on. Past Gregg. My life doesn't have to end because his did."

            Willow laughs. "I have to confess, when I met you my plan was to get down your pants, but I think I respect you too much now to use you. Say what you want about me, I don't use my friends, and I don't say I'll respect someone in the morning if I know I don't mean it."

            "When we first met… I thought you were off your rocker, to be honest." We both laugh, our voices vanishing out open bay windows, the only sounds of joy that float up from Dirt's gummy surface.

            "Do you mind me asking… how far you and Gregg…"

            "We… uh… yeah…"

            "Are you…"

            "No, no smeet… I should be sad, but I'm not. No smeet to bear his eyes, no smeet to-"

            "I am. Don't tell Raine. It's not his." She looks straight up and into my eyes. "It's not Gregg either, no, I never meant to insinuate that. I… something about you made me realize how much I wanted a smeet to finally raise on my own, the smeet I was denied, the smeet to fulfill Raine's broken promise. The real father's name isn't important. I wanted to… ask if you wanted to Aunt Org. Or Aunty Orgy, for that matter."

            My hand closes tighter around hers. Her antennae shake and her  breath twitches. I've never seen fear of hesitancy of this nature in her before. "Wouldn't say no for the world," I answer.

            Willow breaths a sign of relief. "One promise broken, a broken promise remade, and a promise for the future of a few dividing cells. I guess coming out here wasn't such a wasted trip after all."

            "No, not after all."

           Willow leans over and I smell the heavy scent of skin powder clinging to her with the last of its power. She kisses me, but it's not sexual. It's full of emotion that transcends sexuality, an emotion that can only be shared by two Irkens who understand something.

            What is that something. I can't tell you, because doing so would defeat the entire purpose of that moment, of that kiss. I can only tell you that to chase that moment like a glittering butterfly, because no life that feels such a moment can ever really be called ordinary.

            And no life that touched another can ever be called wasted, no matter how small the influence. 


	16. Epilogue: Celeste

Epilogue:

The purpose of making this a separate chapter was for the people who want to review the new last chapter and can't do so because they reviewed the old last chapter. Please forgive me.

Celeste held the worn-out bound disk containing her late aunt's journals close to her chest, against one of her beating hearts. It meant everything to her that the journals had been left to her when her aunt had quietly gone to the hall of the aged on one recent summer night.  

            Her aunt and her divorced mother had been all she'd needed to feel loved. Her aunt never had married, but had worn a lovely green dress with small sour apples printed on it to Celeste's own wedding. "Darling, are you still awake and reading those things?" her mate asked, poking his head in.

            "Yes, but for now I'm done," she said, setting the disks between black-draped pictures of her beloved aunt and mother. She gently extinguished a low-burning white candle. 

            "You've always loved reading, like her. You didn't cry at the funeral. Wasn't it lovely when they sent her coffin off into the sun? So ceremonial…"

            "There was no reason to cry. Mama was there waiting for her. I could feel it."

            He put an arm around her. "You know, I could too. Come on, let's get to bed before the boys call and ask for more money."

            She laughed as her mate swept her off to their double bed. In the darkness beyond, one antiquated SLAW unit sat out on a familiar railing, looking up at the night sky, wishing upon a single star.


End file.
